


The Wayside Flower

by thealphagate_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adult Content, Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-11
Updated: 2006-03-11
Packaged: 2019-02-02 12:22:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 50,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12726528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealphagate_archivist/pseuds/thealphagate_archivist
Summary: Jack and Daniel join forces to assist fugitives escape from death during the French Revolution - each hiding a secret from the other.





	The Wayside Flower

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the archivists: this story was originally archived at [The Alpha Gate](https://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Alpha_Gate), a Stargate SG-1 archive, which began migration to the AO3 in 2017 when its hosting software, eFiction, was no longer receiving support. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are this creator and it hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Alpha Gate collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/thealphagate).

  
Author's notes: Violence; Het reference (decidedly off camera)  
  
An experiment in adapting a book that I will not be quick to repeat.  
  
Thanks to my Beta, Gateroller!  


* * *

It was just the end of one more day in Paris late in September and the crowd was still baying for blood. There was a loud cheer as the last head for the day fell into the basket beneath the blade of the guillotine as men, women and even children died. The old woman in the front row, liberally splattered with blood, raised her hand as exultant as all the others. Yet, looking into her dark brown eyes one might have wondered for her expression was not that of someone celebrating the deaths of her fellow human beings.

All day the guillotine had been busy removing heads from the bodies of hated aristocrats. The ordinary people of the city were getting revenge after years, centuries of cruel treatment by those who ought to have known better. 

Madame Guillotine may have stopped for the day but not the 'entertainment'. Picking up her whip the old hag left her seat and joined the crowd as they left the Place de la Grève and made for the nearby West Barricade instead to watch the popular Sergeant Bibot who was renowned for capturing the aristocrats who tried to escape the city daily. Every afternoon before the gates closed and the market carts went out in procession, some aristocrat tried to evade the clutches of the Committee of Public Safety. In a variety of disguises men, women and children would try to pass the gates guarded by the citizen soldiers of the Republic in an attempt to reach safety in England. Once there they would try to rouse foreign feeling against the Revolution, or even try to raise an army to free the wretched prisoners in the Temple prison. These detainees had once called themselves sovereigns of France.

However, they were nearly always caught at the barricades, especially the West Gate were Sergeant Bibot seemed to be able to sniff out the aristocrats even in the most perfect of disguises. He would play with them, letting them think they had succeeded in fooling him, even going so far as to allow them to pass the exit only to send his soldiers after them to drag them back to face the vengeance of the people; to meet the fatal caress of Madame Guillotine.

So it was no surprise to find the crowd around Bibot's gate eager, the lust for blood still singing in their veins. It didn't matter that they had already seen a hundred heads fall that day, or that they would see a hundred more fall tomorrow, they wanted entertainment which today began with Bibot regaling the crowd with the misfortune of one of his colleagues on duty at another gate. 

He described with great glee how Sergeant Grospierre had allowed a cart full of casks to pass through his gate after checking just a few of them. How the poor sergeant was horrified when a captain arrived with a troop of citizen soldiers seeking that very cart as the hiding place for an aristocrat family, the cart driven by the devil himself - the Scarlet Pimpernel. The crowed bayed at the sergeant’s stupidity but Bibot only laughed claiming he was even more stupid because it was the Pimpernel who was the captain and his troop of soldiers were in fact the escaping aristos. The crowd went silent at yet one more miraculous escape at the hands of this mysterious Englishman and his League.

"What happened to the sergeant?" the old hag called out, pushing forward with her cart.

"What he deserved," Bibot replied harshly, "Madame Guillotine." The old woman laughed.

It was almost time for the gate to be closed, so Bibot allowed the market carts to approach. Every evening the carts left for the country close by to fetch produce for the morning market. Bibot knew many of the women, spoke to some of them as they spent all day sitting and knitting in the Place de la Grève, like the old hag who was first in line. Even Bibot had to suppress a shudder at this woman who had curly locks of hair, of every hue possible, tied to her whip handle.

The old woman's bright eyes missed nothing and seeing his reaction she purposely lifted the display to show him. "Made friends with the guillotine's lover, he cut them off for me as the heads rolled past," she said as she fingered the hair. "He's promised me some more but I don't know that I'll be here tomorrow," she added sadly. She indicated the back of her cart. "My grandson has got the small-pox," Bibot took a step back, "though some say it could be the plague and if it is I shan't be allowed back in."

The sergeant almost fell in his haste to back away and in so doing failed to notice the expression in the old hag's eyes as she raked the crowd. 

"Curse you," he muttered as the guard and the crowd behind fell well back.

"Curse you," she spat back at him, "what kind of man is afraid of sickness."

"The plague! Get out you and your plague-stricken brood!" Bibot yelled.

With a rough laugh and curse the old woman whipped up her lean horse and drove out of the gate.

The mood at the gate was well and truly ruined now. Even people used to daily death were still afraid of the plague and there was much muttering in the dispersing crowd.

A captain of the guard suddenly appeared galloping up towards the gate. He was known to Bibot so he had no fear it was an Englishman in disguise.

"A cart…" the captain shouted as he approached, "Driven by an old hag…..son with the plague…" he gasped.

"Yes …” Bibot replied nervously.

“You have not let them go?”

"Yes…" his face paled with fear.

“The cart contained the Countess de Tournay and her two children, all of them traitors and condemned to death.”

“And their driver?” muttered Bibot, as a shudder ran down his spine.

"It's believed it was that damned Englishman himself - the Scarlet Pimpernel." 

No one had seen these mysterious Englishmen; as for their leader, he was never spoken of, save with a superstitious shudder. Citizen Foucquier-Tinville, president of the Committee of Public Safety would receive a scrap of paper from some mysterious source; sometimes he would find it in the pocket of his coat, at other times it would be handed to him by someone in the crowd. The paper always contained a brief notice that the band of Englishmen were at work, and it was always signed with a device drawn in red - a little star-shaped flower, which in England was called the Scarlet Pimpernel. Within a few hours the Committee of Public Safety would hear that so many royalists and aristocrats had succeeded in reaching the coast and were on their way to England and safety.

~~~~

The inn known as the Fisherman's Rest at Dover was an old place, the oak rafters already black with age, as were the panelled seats and long polished table. It was a favourite place for the locals to call in for a drink and for travellers to stay on their way to other parts of the country after arriving from overseas as the London and Dover coach started from the inn daily.

The landlord, Mr Jellyband, a fat jovial man of indeterminate age and in the process of going bald, made everyone welcome as had been the way of his family for generations.

The coffee-room was lit by two well-polished lamps hanging from the ceiling and through the dense tobacco smoke Mr Jellyband held court. He was very fond of lecturing the poor locals with his opinion of politics and the terrible situation across the Channel, though at the moment the subject matter was the terrible weather, most unusual for that time of year.

"Sally," he called as his daughter passed with two mugs of ale. She was a pretty blonde girl not yet quite twenty. "Get on with preparing Lord Anthony's supper and make sure it's the best for if he's not satisfied…"

"Aye father," she replied hurrying away.

"Expecting special guests?" one of the regulars asked.

"Aye, friends of Lord Anthony, those he and his friends have rescued from those murdering devils," Mr Jellyband replied.

"Them Frenchies?" 

Mr. Jellyband now set out on his favourite subject, denigrating the revolutionaries across the Channel.

At a quiet corner table two customers, gentlemen by their clothes, one of whom was of medium build slightly going to fat with the onset of middle age, the other was younger, small and wiry. They had been listening for some time when they exchanged glances, their expressions humourless. 

The elder one spoke up, "It seems, sir, that you think these Frenchmen are very clever. Sending spies over here, influencing 'good honest English folk'?".

The discussion broke out again and the stranger smiled at his friend as if at some private joke.

Feelings in England ran pretty high at this time with the terrible executions and increasing demands for the deaths of the royal family floating across the narrow strip of water between the two countries and yet no one seemed able, or perhaps willing, to interfere. The British government was of the opinion it was for Austria to act as the dethroned queen was of their royal family. Another argument was that it was not the place of the English to interfere when Frenchmen chose to murder other Frenchmen. There were yet others who agreed with the philosophy of revolution but found the violent reality abhorrent. So it was not surprising that arguments such as this reigned in every inn in the country.

Suddenly Sally appeared again, excited and eager. "Lord Anthony has arrived, father."

Even as she finished speaking the door was thrown open and arms wet and dripping from the rain were thrown around Sally's waist. "Ah, bless your pretty eyes for being so sharp."

Lord Anthony Dewhurst, a sturdy young man with dark hair and eyes that appeared perpetually sad was a regular at the Fisherman's Rest as he was fond of trips across to France and always stayed at the inn on his way there or back.

He nodded to all the regulars, giving a quick glance to the two strangers who were playing a quiet game of dominoes.

"Your friends are due here soon, my lord?" Sally asked.

"Hush," he said peremptorily, looking towards the strangers. 

"Oh, they are all right, sir," Jellyband spoke up. "We are among friends," he added indicating the strangers. He had been impressed by their opinions expressed at length during the discussions earlier.

"Very well," Anthony replied, taking the landlord at his word. "But tell me, you have no one else staying here, have you?"

"No one… except…"

"Except?"

"Well, Sir Jonathon O'Neill and his lady will be here shortly but they're not expected to stay…"

"Lady O'Neill?" Anthony queried, astonished. Jonathon coming here was no surprise but his wife?

"Yes, my lord. Sir Jonathon's skipper was just here. He says my lady's brother is crossing over to France today in Sir Jonathon's yacht and they have come to see him off."

"Here's someone now, my lord," Sally said as the distant clatter of horses and wheels could be heard. Whether it was Anthony's friends or Sir Jonathon and Lady O'Neill only time would tell.

It seemed everyone was interested in who the newcomers were except for the two gentleman in the corner who were calmly finishing their game.

A pleasant voice floated through from outside, "Straight ahead, Countess, the door on your right."

"Ah, here they are, off you go, Sally and quickly serve the food," Lord Anthony instructed.

The door opened and two gentlemen entered accompanied by two ladies.

"Welcome," said Anthony, cheerfully, as he came forward to greet the travellers.

“Ah, you are Lord Anthony Dewhurst, I think,” said the older of the two ladies, speaking with a strong foreign accent. She was an imposing figure, not very tall she yet held herself with a back so straight it appeared to add inches to her stature. She had pale blue eyes and hair almost dead white.

“At your service, Madame,” he replied. He kissed the hands of the ladies and shook the men's hands as the locals looked on with interest.

“Ah, Messieurs! What can I say?” said the elder lady, looking with gratitude first at Lord Anthony, then at one of the young men.

"Why? That you are glad to be in England, Countess?" replied Anthony

“Indeed, we are glad to be in England,” she said, her eyes filling with tears, “and we have already forgotten all that we have suffered.” That might have a pretty speech but in truth it would be a long while before any of them would forget the horrors they had suffered and what family and friends were still facing back in France.

“I hope my friend, Sir Daniel proved an entertaining travelling companion, Madame?”

“Ah, indeed, kindness itself. How could my children and I ever show enough gratitude to you all, Messieurs?”

Daniel, a fine example of a young English gentleman, tall, handsome with fair hair and bright blue eyes, possessed of a good figure and who was always pleasant, bowed in acknowledgement.

Her daughter, a frail yet pretty girl with looks most unlike her mother. She had dark brown hair and eyes to match. At the moment she was very tired and upset and when she looked up from the fire, tears were obvious in her eyes. Her gaze followed the form of Sir Daniel Jackson and her admiration was obvious. He, however, seemed unaware of her interest.

“So this is England,” the young woman said, looking round curiously.  
.  
“A bit of it, Mademoiselle,” replied Sir Daniel, “But all of it, at your service," he added, smiling politely. The young lady blushed.

"Supper ready to be served yet?" Anthony asked. "My guests must be faint with hunger!"

The landlord called for his daughter to serve the food and soon a tray loaded with provisions fresh from the oven was brought in. 

The locals had left the coffee room to allow the others to enjoy their supper in peace, only the two gentlemen, still calmly playing unconcernedly in the corner, remained.

The young Viscount de Tournay, who had only just turned nineteen, found most of his attention on young Sally as she served the meal and he commented in his broken English that if this was England he was well satisfied.

While the others settled at the table, the young lady remained by the fireplace.

“Suzanne,” the Countess called sternly and blushing, the young girl hurried to sit beside her mother.

The group ate their meal and kept up a conversation that studiously ignored the fact that they had just escaped from the threat of execution in Paris while in the corner, the two men appeared to have finally finished their game. One of them arose and with his back to the table made much of putting on his caped coat. As he did so, he gave one quick glance all around him ensuring everyone was busy, then signalling to his companion, who slipped unobtrusively under the oak bench at their table. Then with a loud 'good-night' to the coffee room in general he walked out.

When he finally left, Anthony sat back with a sigh and said, "Alone at last."

After a round of toasts to the King of England and the royal family of France, Lord Anthony added, "And to the Count of Tournay. May we welcome him to England before many days are over.”

“Ah, Monsieur,” said the Countess, “I scarcely dare to hope.”

"That was no idle toast, Madame," he replied, "now you are safe you must rest assured that we shall attempt to bring him to safety."

With a heavy sigh, she replied, “I trust in God but I can only pray and hope …”

Sir Daniel said quietly, "Trust in God by all means but believe also in your English friends.”

"Thank you, monsieur," she replied. "I have the fullest confidence in you and your friends. Your fame has spread through France – why, the way some of my friends have escaped is nothing short of a miracle… but my husband is in such peril. I would never have left him but for my children," her voice broke and she shook her head. "I should never have left him…I should…" 

Suzanne put her arms around her mother, comforting her as she cried, before turning to say, "As for me, gentleman, I trust you to bring my father safely to England just as you brought us today." Her words helped to calm her mother.

"Thank you for your faith in us but it is misplaced. We only follow the instructions of our leader," Sir Daniel admitted, not without some pride.

“Your leader?” said the Countess, eagerly. “Please let us meet him so we may thank him properly."

"I'm sorry," replied Sir Daniel, "but this is impossible."

"But why?"

“Because the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel is known only to a few who swear an oath of secrecy to keep him safe,” Daniel said in a hushed tone. 

“The Scarlet Pimpernel?” said Suzanne, with a laugh. “What an odd name! What is the Scarlet Pimpernel, monsieur?”

Daniel's handsome face was suddenly more mobile, his eyes alight. The young woman wasn't to know that she had asked him about his personal hero. "It's the name of a humble wayside flower but it is the name chosen by the bravest man I know so he may carry on his work in secret."

"I have heard of him," interposed the young Viscount. "It is said the Public Prosecutor receives a drawing of a little red flower whenever a royalist escapes."

"That's correct," Daniel said.

"So he will receive a paper today?" Suzanne asked.

"Yes and he will have many more opportunities to see the small scarlet flower."

"Why do you do it?" asked the Countess. "Risk everything for strangers in another land?"

Anthony laughed and swiftly replied, "Why for sport Madame, for sport!"

"I don't believe that, you have a nobler motive, I am sure."

"Then find it for me, Madame, for I promise I love the game, the danger, the excitement," Anthony smiled.

The Countess found this hard to believe for she knew of the consequences if any of them should be caught in France. There would be no mercy for men such as these. With a shudder, she recalled their escape from Paris, all three of them hidden beneath the hood of a rickety cart, not daring to breathe lying amidst a heap of turnips and cabbages. She saw again that awful hag driving it, with the ghastly trophy on her whip handle - who would've believed it was a disguise!

Daniel sat back quietly listening to the conversation and he knew there was some truth in Anthony's declaration. They were rich young men with little else in their lives except an undertaking that could be seen as purely adventurous for them but for him there was also a much more personal reason. The Pimpernel was his best friend, the most important person in his life and he would do anything to protect him. His friend had placed a trust in him that he would never betray.

Suzanne couldn't believe it was for sport either. She watched Sir Daniel and his thoughtful demeanour told her that in truth he at any rate had other motives.

“How many are there in your League?” she asked timidly.

“Twenty all told," Anthony replied, “one to command, and nineteen to obey. All pledged to the same cause - to obey our leader and to rescue the innocent.”

“May God protect you all,” said the Countess, fervently. "It is wonderful to me that Englishmen will risk much in France where treachery is rife - and all in the name of liberty!"

“Even the women in France have been more bitter against the aristocrats than the men,” said the Viscount, with a sigh.

“Ah, yes,” added the Countess with a look disdain and bitterness. “There was that woman, Marguerite St. Just for instance. She denounced the Marquis de St. Cyr and all his family to the awful tribunal of the Terror.”

“Marguerite St. Just?” said Lord Anthony, shooting an apprehensive glance at his friends. “Marguerite St. Just? - surely …”

“Yes!” replied the Countess, “surely you know her, she married an Englishman a while back."

“Know her?” said Sir Daniel. “She is Lady O'Neill, the most fashionable woman in London - the wife of the richest man in England. Of course, we all know Lady O'Neill.” Daniel felt a chill run down his spine. He'd never liked Marguerite but then…..

“We went to school together at the convent in Paris,” interposed Suzanne, “and we came to England together to learn your language. I was very fond of Marguerite and I cannot believe that she would ever do anything so wicked.”

“It certainly seems incredible,” said Sir Daniel. “You say that she denounced the Marquis de St. Cyr? Why would she have done such a thing? Surely there must be some mistake…”

“There is no mistake,” the Countess replied coldly. “Marguerite St. Just’s brother is a noted republican. There was some talk of a family feud between him and my cousin, the Marquis. I assure you there is no mistake.… You've not heard this story?”

“I did hear some vague rumours of it but in England no one would credit it. Sir Jonathon O'Neill, her husband, is a very wealthy and intimate friend of the Prince of Wales … and Lady O'Neill leads both fashion and society in London.”

“That may be but I pray that while I remain in this beautiful country, I may never meet Marguerite St. Just.”

An uncomfortable silence filled the room. Daniel looked pale and uncomfortable while Anthony fidgeted. Daniel wanted to be anywhere save in that room but it would be rude to leave. He knew O'Neill would arrive soon accompanied by his wife. Jack would hate any unpleasantness.

After a moment Daniel rose and went to find Mr Jellyband, who, having heard the exchange looked just as uncomfortable.

Speaking softly Daniel asked the landlord, "What time do you expect Sir Jonathon and Lady O'Neill?”

“Any moment, sir,” whispered Jellyband in reply.

Even as he spoke, the distant clatter of an approaching coach was heard then the rattle of horses’ hoofs on the uneven cobble stones. 

“Sir Jonathon O'Neill and my lady,” the stable boy shouted at the top of his voice, "they’re just arriving.”

And with more shouting, jingling of harnesses and iron hoofs, a magnificent coach halted outside the porch of The Fisherman’s Rest drawn by four sturdy well bred horses.

~~~~

As soon as he heard the announcement Daniel hurried to order Jellyband to try and keep Lady O'Neill talking outside while the French ladies prepared to withdraw. The landlord sent Sally to light the way for the newcomers while in the background the Countess could be heard repeating over and over that she would not see the woman.

Outside Jellyband greeted Sir Jonathon and his wife when suddenly the sound of a laughing female voice permeated the coffee room. As soon as the Countess heard that voice she hastily made to leave for the bedrooms. Suzanne was close behind her, hanging back a little hoping to see her erstwhile school friend.

The door flew open. "Goodness, have you ever seen such a climate!" Lady O'Neill declared.

“Suzanne, come at once,” the Countess demanded.

“Mother, please!” pleaded Suzanne.

Jellyband was doing his best to delay her ladyship but she was becoming impatient with his antics. 

"Good lord, man, what are you doing! Let me get to the fire," the beautiful young woman demanded and pushing past she swept into the coffee room.

She was famed in society for her beauty; she was tall, with a wonderful figure and superb deep red hair. Her face graced many portraits and poems had been written about her features. She had an undeniable presence that turned heads; the whole package unique in London society as she was as intelligent as she was beautiful.

With a quick glance all around the room, Marguerite O'Neill had taken stock of everyone there. She nodded and smiled pleasantly to Anthony and haughtily extended a hand for Daniel to kiss which he did with no sign of the reluctance he felt. 

Then, she turned and faced the Countess and Suzanne. Her whole face lit up with joy as she stretched out both arms towards the young girl.

"Why, Suzanne how is it that you are here in England? And Madame too?" she asked as she attempted to hug her friend. 

Anthony watched the scene with apprehension on behalf of Marguerite; Daniel was concerned for how Jack would react if his wife was snubbed. He was a proud man and was very aware of his wife's success in society.

There was no embarrassment at all in Lady O'Neill's approach, which seemed strange considering the bitter hatred the aristocrats of France had for all those who assisted in their downfall. Her brother Armand St. Just was a known republican, even if his views were moderate. His feud with the ancient St. Cyr family was known to have culminated in the family's demise. It was as if she felt by stretching out a hand she could bridge the conflict between them.

“Suzanne, I forbid you to speak to that woman,” said the Countess sternly, placing a restraining hand on her daughter’s arm.

She had spoken in English, so everyone heard and understood; the young gentlemen as well as the innkeeper and his daughter. The latter literally gasped with horror at this foreign insolence to her ladyship, who, as Sir Jonathon’s wife was now considered English, and a friend of the Prince of Wales.

Lord Anthony and Sir Daniel were unsure how to react to this obvious insult to their friend's wife by those they had so recently rescued from certain death. Daniel instinctively glanced hurriedly towards the door as a familiar drawling voice was heard outside.

Only Lady Marguerite O'Neill and the Countess remained seemingly unmoved. The Countess was rigid, defiant, the personification of pride. In contrast Marguerite's face had become pale, almost white and almost imperceptibly, her hand trembling where it held her walking cane and then she pulled herself together.

Locking eyes with the Countess she gave a slight shrug and asked cheerfully, "What is your problem?"

“We are in England now, Madame,” replied the Countess, coldly, “and I am at liberty to forbid my daughter to have anything to do with you. Come, Suzanne.” Without another word she turned her back on Lady O'Neill, clearly expecting her daughter to follow.

There was silence in the parlour of the old inn for a moment, as the rustle of the Countess’s skirts died away down the passage. Marguerite, rigid as a statue, watched with a hard expression, yet as Suzanne obediently began to follow, the expression softened. Suzanne caught that look and, in sympathy, she turned, ran back and quickly hugged Marguerite. Suzanne’s impulse relieved the unpleasant tension.

“So that’s it, is it?” she said. “Well, Sir Daniel, did you ever see such an unpleasant person?” She straightened her back and mimicking the Countess's voice said, "Suzanne, I forbid you to speak to that woman!” She laughed but it was forced and brittle.

However, Anthony and Daniel didn't notice and merely laughed at her little playacting, the mimicry perfect.

“Ah! Lady O'Neill!” added Sir Daniel, “how they must miss you at the Comèdie Française, and how the Parisians must hate Sir Jonathon for having taken you away.”

Laughing, she replied, "It's impossible to hate Sir Jonathon for anything; his humour would disarm even the Countess.”

Daniel heard not a fond joke at her husband's expense but rather a bitter complaint. Did he imagine it? Was it because he was jealous of this beautiful woman's hold over the man he admired so much? The man who elicited feelings in him that he had never felt for another living soul?

The young Viscount, who had not left with the rest of his family, was angry at the insult to his mother and stepped forward to defend her from any more comments from Lady O'Neill. 

At that moment a tall, very good looking and very smartly dressed man in his late thirties appeared in the doorway. He had sparkling brown eyes and his otherwise strong mouth was marred by a perpetual disdainful expression. Sir Jonathon O'Neill had shocked London society less than a year ago when he'd returned from a journey abroad with a new wife. She was not only beautiful, fascinating and clever, she was French. It was still the talk of London how he ever managed to land that brilliant matrimonial prize, Marguerite St Just, the toast of Paris, for though he may be a leader of society he was also a rather tedious man who found too much in life amusing with too little cause.

Marguerite may not have been born to grace and favour but she had more than enough of her own to draw men like bees to a honey pot. In Paris, together with her handsome brother, she gathered around her a group of the most exclusive people of wit and intellect. She was a firm believer in equality, and was well known for her wit; 'money and titles may be hereditary but brains are not' was often quoted and it seemed to strike no one as ironic that with such beliefs she sought both money and title. 

So, surrounded by such fascinating, distinguished men even a rich baronet from England would have trouble standing out, and O'Neill was not renowned for his intellect. So how did he win the sparkling prize? It was a question no one knew the answer to. 

A question which haunted Sir Daniel. The young man had been O'Neill's friend for a few years, often travelling abroad with him but not on that occasion and it wasn't until that shocking event that the young man finally realised his admiration for his friend was so much more. He'd felt a tremendous pain he didn't understand when he learned that Jack had married. He recognised it for what it was the first evening after they arrived home when Jack gave a small dinner party for his close friends to meet his wife. Daniel watched his friend with his new wife, heard him praise her beauty, laugh at her wit, then a little later she retired early claiming a headache and he happened to see them together at the bottom of the stairs. He saw his friend holding her and kissing her, murmuring soft words into her ear. He felt as if someone had plunged a knife into his chest and with flash of painful revelation he realised he was in love with Jack O'Neill.

At first he had been shocked, horrified, never having the slightest idea that he could feel like that about another man. Then slowly it began to make sense; he'd never really had time for women, always having more important things to do. He read voraciously, having always enjoyed learning and of course there was his sport and his clubs. Now he understood there was more to it than that, he had never attempted to pursue a relationship with any woman because he had no interest in females. He'd had many friends growing up, some very close, always male and with hindsight he realised he had looked at some of them with an inkling of more than just friendship. However, until Jack O'Neill had entered his life it had never meant anything. Now it meant everything - and nothing. He knew it could never amount to anything; the only person he'd ever loved could never be his. 

His first reaction was to run as far and as fast as he could, his second reaction was that he never could leave his friend; unless Jack ended their friendship; one that seemed just as special to Jack. Daniel was the only person allowed to call him Jack. Even his other friends called him by his given name. Jack had told him once the only other person to call him that had been his mother. Daniel had never understood why he'd been given this privilege but he valued it greatly. The nearest his friend had ever come to explaining it was to say that he felt more at ease with Daniel than with anyone else he'd ever met, then he'd coughed, cleared his throat and returned to reading his newspaper. 

Daniel remembered feeling very warm at hearing those words and after that fateful evening he understood why. Any way he could be closer to his …friend - his love - meant the world to him.

Marguerite glanced at the door as her husband entered and was immediately struck by the bored expression on his handsome face and after the shock she'd just experienced it made her angry, made her wonder yet again why she had ever thrown herself away on such a man. She remembered her Parisian friends asking her whatever she saw in the stupid, dull Englishman, asking why she had married him so precipitately. 

Rumours abounded of course. Some claimed it was for title, money and position while others claimed if that was all, she could have made a better match with a more intelligent person that Sir Jonathon O'Neill. The rather nasty rumour abounded for a while that perhaps the lady was with child. He totally ignored the talk behaving as if it never took place and Marguerite kept her own counsel. Looking at him now, her anger faded to be replaced instead by despondency. She did have a very particular reason for marrying him, his looks, money and position had been an advantage but none of that was what really drew her to him. 

After her parents death when she was young, Marguerite St. Just had only ever loved one person in her life; her brother Armand. Men offered her marriage almost daily yet she refused them all until the day O'Neill offered it. She hadn't known him long, he'd been introduced into her circle by a mutual friend and from almost the first day he seemed totally devoted to her. She could have exactly the kind of life she wanted with a man who adored her, a man whose intellect did not hold a candle to hers; a man she could wrap around her finger. She also thought that if she could love any man it would probably be Jonathon O'Neill, his very devotion was like a drug, drawing her nearer. She was a moth to his flame, seeking warmth -- and she was burned. 

Later, after they were married and had returned to England everything changed because of a confession she felt honour bound to make but she had never expected his reaction and to her shock it became truly a marriage of convenience, a reason that neither would admit to the world for the sake of pride and position. 

Sir Jonathon travelled abroad frequently and when he surprisingly brought home a beautiful, vivacious young wife society opened its welcoming arms. His friendship with the Prince of Wales was rekindled as the Prince succumbed to the Frenchwoman's charms and all her expectations were fulfilled.

No one was particularly surprised when the first flush of romance faded from the relationship and her ladyship seemed quite happy to sharpen her wit at the expense of her husband. Even his friends were heard to comment that a wife of less intellect would have made a more equitable wife, one who would have smiled indulgently at his inanities and good humoured foolishness. O'Neill, however, either ignored the barbs his wife threw in his direction or fended them off with that self-same good humour.

Society may have wondered behind closed doors whether or not the marriage had lived up to Sir Jonathon's expectations but as both parties were extremely closed mouthed on the subject, wonder was all they could do. 

Entering the coffee room now, Sir Jonathon shook the rain from his fine overcoat before putting up a gold-rimmed eye-glass to his brown eye and surveying the company.

"How do, Daniel, Anthony," he said, shaking their hands, laughing somewhat unnecessarily. "Did you ever see such a terrible day?" 

With a short sarcastic laugh, Marguerite turned to her husband with an odd look in her eye. 

He stared back at her and then glanced at his friends. When no comment was forthcoming he remarked, "You all look most mysterious, what's up?"

"Oh, nothing to disturb your peace," Marguerite said her eyes alight with mischief, her voice light, "just an insult to your wife." 

Sir Jonathon, assuming he was being teased, laughed saying, "Why, who was the bold man who dared to tackle you?"

The young Viscount quickly stepped forward and said in his imperfect English. "Sir, my mother, the Countess de Tournay has given insult to your wife but I cannot ask you to excuse her for I agree with her." Squaring his shoulders, he continued," I am ready to offer you the usual reparation between men of honour.” Drawing himself to his full height and looking very proud he gazed at his opposition Sir Jonathon O'Neill, who stared down at him.

After a moment's silence, Sir Jonathon lifted his eye-glass again, surveying the young man with undisguised surprise, "Where did you learn to speak English?"

“Monsieur!” protested the Viscount, taken back that his warlike attitude had been so casually dismissed.

“It really is quite remarkable,” continued Sir Jonathon, imperturbably, “Don’t you think so, Daniel? I can’t speak the French lingo like that!” 

Daniel grinned, his eyes sparkling, as he said quietly. "No, not like that at all." Daniel had a very good idea what Jack sounded like when speaking French. Trying not to sound too obvious he continued, "I'm afraid Sir Jonathon speaks it as badly as a peasant."

“I can vouch for that!” responded Marguerite, speaking across Daniel's comment. “Sir Jonathon has an accent you could cut with a knife.”

“Sir,” said the Viscount earnestly, “I don't think you understand. I offer you the only possible reparation among gentlemen.”

“What the devil is that?” asked Sir Jonathon, blandly.

“My sword, sir,” replied the Viscount, who, though bewildered, was fast losing his temper.

Sir Jonathon, however, was staring sleepily at the Viscount for a moment or two then he smothered another yawn, stretched, and turned leisurely away, muttering, “Young man, what’s the good of your sword to me?”

“A duel, sir,” the Viscount stammered.

O'Neill turned again looking down on the smaller man before him and not for a second did he seem to lose his usual imperturbable good humour. "A duel! Ha! You are a blood-thirsty young man. Do you have a desire to stick holes in a law-abiding man?" Sitting down and stretching his long legs out before him, he added, "Never fight duels. Damned uncomfortable, duels." 

Now the Viscount had vaguely heard that in England duelling between gentlemen had been suppressed by the law but to him, a Frenchman, whose notions of bravery and honour were based upon a code that had centuries of tradition to back it, a gentleman actually refusing to fight a duel was unthinkable. He was wondering if he should strike the man and call him a coward, when Marguerite happily interposed.

“Please, Lord Anthony,” she said, “I beg you play the peacemaker. The child is bursting with rage, and,” she added with dry sarcasm, “might do Sir Jonathon an injury.” She laughed a mocking little laugh, which, however, did not in the least disturb her husband’s placid mood. “Sir Jonathon would provoke all the saints in the calendar and still keep his temper.”

Daniel was bristling with anger and wished that just once Jack would show his true colours but already O'Neill, good-humoured as ever, had joined in the joke against himself.

“Damn smart that now, wasn’t it?” he said, turning to the Viscount. “Clever woman my wife, sir…. You will find that out if you live long enough in England.”

“Sir Jonathon is in the right, Viscount,” interposed Lord Anthony, laying a hand on the young Frenchman’s shoulder. “It would hardly be fitting to commence your career in England by provoking him to a duel.”

For a moment longer the Viscount hesitated, then with a slight shrug of the shoulders at the extraordinary code of honour prevailing in this fog-ridden island, he said with dignity, “As you say, sir. If I have done wrong, I withdraw myself.”

“Please do!” rejoined O'Neill, with a sigh of satisfaction, “withdraw yourself over there. Excitable little puppy,” he added under his breath. “Daniel, if that’s a specimen of the goods you and your friends bring over from France, my advice to you is, drop ’em mid-Channel, my friend, or I shall have to see old Pitt about it, get him to clap on a prohibitive tariff, and put you in the stocks as a smuggler.” 

Marguerite rose at that and stood in front of her husband, "Well, Jonathon, it seems you forget that you have imported one bundle of goods from France."

O'Neill slowly rose to his feet, and, making a deep and elaborate bow before his wife, he said with consummate gallantry, “I had the pick of the market, Madame, and my taste is unerring.”

“More so than your chivalry, I fear,” she retorted sarcastically.

“Be reasonable! Do you think I am going to allow my body to be made a pincushion by every frog-eater who don’t like the shape of your nose?”

“Lord, Jonathon!” laughed Lady O'Neill as she bobbed him a curtsey that somehow seemed insulting, “you need not be afraid! It's not the men who dislike the shape of my nose.”

Ignoring the barb Sir Jonathon called for Jellyband to fill everyone's glass but Marguerite interrupted.

“There is no time, now. The skipper will be here directly and my brother must get on board, or the Day Dream will miss the tide.”

“Time, m’dear? There is plenty of time for any gentleman to get drunk and get on board before the turn of the tide.”

“I think, your ladyship,” said Jellyband, “that the young gentleman is coming along now with Sir Jonathon’s skipper.”

“Then Armand can join us for a drink." O'Neill commented.

Marguerite said, “I trust you will forgive me if I bid my brother good-bye in another room.”

O'Neill just nodded. Her love for her brother, Armand St. Just was well known and the young man was returning home to France after spending a few weeks visiting with his sister and Sir Jonathon made no attempt to detain his wife. With that perfect, somewhat affected gallantry which characterised his every movement, he opened the coffee-room door for her and made her the most elaborate bow. 

~~~~

Once away from the company of the others Marguerite relaxed her self-control and allowed a few tears to fall. The rain had ceased and the pale sun was struggling to break through. She looked out over the bay to see her husband's yacht, the Day Dream, gently dancing in the breeze; the ship that was taking her brother back to the dangers of France. Even as she thought this she saw him approaching with the ship's captain.

“Armand!” she called as soon as she saw him and a moment later they embraced.

“How much time have we got, Briggs?” asked Lady O'Neill.

“We ought to weigh anchor within the half-hour, your ladyship,” replied the old man politely stepping aside to let them pass.

Linking her arm in his, Marguerite led her brother towards the cliffs.

“Half an hour,” she said, looking wistfully out to sea, “and you’ll be far from me, Armand! Oh! I can’t believe that you are going, dear! These last few days, while Jonathon has been away, and I’ve had you all to myself, have slipped by like a dream.”

“I am not going far,” said the young man gently, “a narrow channel to cross - a few miles of road, I can soon come back.”

“It's not the distance, Armand …and …but that awful Paris … just now …”

"Our own beautiful country, Marguerite,” said Armand sadly.

“They are going too far, Armand,” she said vehemently. “You are a republican, so am I … we have the same thoughts, the same enthusiasm for liberty and equality … but even you must think that they are going too far …”

“Hush…” Armand said, instinctively throwing a quick apprehensive glance around him.

“See! You don’t think it's safe even to speak of these things here in England!” She clung to him suddenly with strong, almost motherly, passion: “Don’t go, Armand!” she begged; “don’t go back! What should I do if … if … if …” Her voice was choked in sobs and she gazed appealingly at the young man.

“You have to be brave, sister,” he said gently. “It is not for her sons to turn their backs when France is in peril.”

“Armand!” she sighed, "I sometimes wish you didn't have such lofty virtues… I assure you little sins are far less dangerous. You will be careful?” she added earnestly.

“As far as possible … I promise you.”

“Remember, dear, I have only you … to … to care for me. …”

“Jonathon cares for you. …”

Her eyes hardened, "Once, I thought he did."

“But surely …”

“No, don’t distress yourself on my account. Jonathon is …very good …”

“Enough!” he interrupted energetically. “I will … Listen, dear, I have not spoken of these things to you before; something always seemed to stop me. But, somehow, I feel as if I can't leave you now without asking you one question…. You need not answer it if you do not wish,” he added, as he noted a sudden hard look darting through her eyes.

“What is it?” she asked simply.

“Does Sir Jonathon know that … I mean does he know the part you played in the arrest of the Marquis de St. Cyr?”

She laughed; a mirthless, bitter laugh, “That I denounced St. Cyr, you mean, to the tribunal that ultimately sent him and all his family to the guillotine? Yes, he does know… I told him after I married him…”

“You told him all the circumstances?”

“It was too late to talk of circumstances; he heard the story from other sources; my confession came too late, it seems. I could no longer plead extenuating circumstances.”

“And?”

“And now I have the satisfaction, Armand, of knowing that the biggest fool in England has the most complete contempt for his wife.”

“But Sir Jonathon loved you,” he said gently.

“Loved me? …Well, Armand, I thought at one time he did, or I wouldn't have married him. I supposed,” she added, speaking very rapidly, as if she were afraid of what she was about to say "…that even you thought that I married him because of his wealth …but I assure you, dear, that it was not so. He seemed to worship me with a curious intensity of passion, which went straight to my heart. I had never loved any one before, as you know, and I was twenty-four by then. I began to think it wasn't in my nature to love so I looked for an alternative. The security of being loved entirely …to be loved blindly, passionately, wholly … worshipped, in fact," she hesitated, looking at him for understanding but his expression gave nothing away. 

With a sigh, she continued, "The very fact that Jonathon seemed a little stupid was an attraction for me, as I thought he would love me all the more. A clever man would naturally have other interests, an ambitious man other hopes…. I thought that a fool would think of nothing but me. And I was ready to respond, Armand; I would have allowed myself to be worshipped, and given infinite tenderness in return….”

She sighed -- and there was a world of disillusionment in that sigh. Armand had allowed her to speak on without interruption, allowing his own thoughts to run riot. It was terrible to see a young and beautiful woman bereft of hope, bereft of illusions, bereft of her dreams.

Yet perhaps he understood what Marguerite had left unsaid. Granted that Jonathon O'Neill appeared dull-witted but in his mind, there would still be more than enough room for the pride of a descendant from a long line of English gentlemen. That same pride -- foolish and prejudiced to the republican Armand -- must have stung dreadfully on hearing of the sin which lay at Lady O'Neill’s feet. 

She'd been young, misguided and ill-advised perhaps. Yet Armand knew of those who took advantage of Marguerite’s youth, her imprudence but O'Neill would not listen to circumstances, he only clung to facts and these showed him Lady O'Neill denouncing a fellow man to a tribunal that knew no pardon. The contempt he felt for the deed she had done would kill any love he may have felt for her.

They had always been together, these two, for their parents had died when Armand was barely in his teens and Marguerite a little younger. He had watched over her until her marriage; had chaperoned her during those brilliant years when she made a spectacular name for herself and had seen her enter upon this new life of hers, here in England, with much sorrow and some foreboding.

This was his first visit to England since her marriage and the few months of separation had already built up a slight partition between brother and sister; the same intense love was still there, on both sides but now each seemed to have their little secrets from the other.

Marguerite had perhaps revealed more of her character than she realised. Of course, he'd always been aware that Marguerite was self-centred and proud but he saw that her innate selfishness was probably the reason she had never even mentioned St. Cyr's daughter to him. That or guilt. He had kept his own feelings of anger and regret about the girl's fate to himself, knowing there had never been any intent on his sister's part to harm St. Cyr's family but the more he thought about that innocent girl's death, the more he considered his own political leanings.

There was much Armand couldn't tell his sister; the political aspect of the revolution in France was changing almost every day and she might not understand how his own views and sympathies might become modified, even as the excesses, committed by those who had been his friends, grew in horror and in intensity. 

~~~~~

The afternoon was rapidly drawing to a close; and a long, chilly English summer’s evening was throwing a misty pall over the green Kentish landscape. The Day Dream had set sail and Marguerite O'Neill stood alone on the edge of the cliff for over an hour, watching those white sails, which bore so swiftly away from her the only being who really cared for her, who she dared to love, who she knew she could trust.

The lights from the coffee-room of The Fisherman’s Rest glittered yellow in the gathering mist; from time to time it seemed she thought she could hear snatches of jovial talk, or even that annoying senseless laugh of her husband’s.

She had to admit that she was thankful he had left her alone, supposing in his own way he understood she would want to say goodbye in private; watch the sails as they disappeared into the vague horizon. His notions of propriety were perfect yet he hadn't suggested that an attendant should remain within call. Marguerite was grateful to her husband; she always tried to be grateful to him for his thoughtfulness, which was constant and for his generosity, which was boundless. She tried even at times to curb the sarcastic, bitter thoughts of him, which made her say cruel, insulting things hoping to wound him; to make him feel that she held him in contempt too.

It wasn't hard to feel contempt for that inane fool whose thoughts seemed unable to soar beyond the tying of a cravat or the new cut of a coat. Yet those vague memories of his supposed devotion… 

Then suddenly that love, that devotion, seemed to vanish completely. She had told him the story of how, inadvertently, she had spoken of certain matters connected with the Marquis de St. Cyr before some friends who had used this information against the man and sent him and his family to the guillotine.

She hated the Marquis. Some years earlier, Armand had loved Angèle de St. Cyr but he was a plebeian and the Marquis was full of pride and arrogance. One day Armand sent a small poem to the girl of his dreams and the next night he was attacked just outside Paris by servants of the Marquis and beaten within an inch of his life, simply because he dared to raise his eyes to the daughter of an aristocrat. 

The incident was one which in the days before the Revolution was an almost daily occurrence in France; incidents such as those that led to the bloody reprisals, which only a short time later sent most of those haughty heads to the guillotine.

Marguerite remembered it all: what her brother suffered must have been appalling. Then the day of retribution came. Armand and Marguerite, both intellectual, thinking beings adopted with enthusiasm the Utopian doctrines of the Revolution, while the Marquis de St. Cyr and his family fought inch by inch for the retention of their social privileges. 

Marguerite, impulsive, thoughtless, still smarting under the terrible insult her brother had suffered at the Marquis’ hands, happened to hear that the St. Cyr's were in treasonable correspondence with Austria, hoping to obtain the Emperor’s support to quell the growing revolution in their own country.

In those days one denunciation was sufficient: Marguerite’s few thoughtless words against St. Cyr bore fruit within twenty-four hours. He was arrested: letters from the Austrian Emperor promising to send troops against the Paris populace were found in his desk. He was arraigned for treason against the nation and sent to the guillotine, soon to be followed by his entire family. Marguerite couldn't help but feel satisfaction at the death of the hated Marquis but she did feel regret for the fate of St. Cyr's family, especially the poor girl who'd had no more choice in her fate than had Armand. She was grateful that Armand had never spoken to her of Angèle for there was little she could have said.

However, when she married Sir Jonathon O'Neill she did not perhaps realise how severely he would look upon the sin when she confessed to her husband, trusting to his blind love for her, though she believed her power over him would soon make him forget.

At the time he seemed to take it quietly enough and she wondered if he fully understood …until she realised that never after that was there the slightest sign of the devotion which she'd believed had been wholly hers. Then he quietly told her she was not to mention it to anyone and that he would do his duty as her husband and she would do hers as his wife and as far as society was concerned they would be the perfect couple. The tone of his voice, the look in his eye, even his bearing was different. For a moment she was even a little afraid of him. 

Now they had drifted apart and it was as though the love and devotion he'd had for her never really existed. 

For a while she tried to rouse him by sharpening her ready wit against him but he ignored her barbs. Then she tried to make him jealous. That had backfired as she made the mistake of setting her cap at Sir Daniel who swiftly showed his disdain for her by declaring that out of respect for his friend he would keep silent about her disgraceful behaviour but if she tried it again with any of his other friends he wouldn't hesitate to tell Sir Jonathon. She had hated Sir Daniel with a passion since then.

If she couldn't stir her husband's love she tried to goad him in other ways but all in vain. He remained the same; always passive, drawling, sleepy, always courteous, invariably a gentleman. 

She had all that the world and a wealthy husband could give to a pretty woman, yet she had never felt more lonely or betrayed by life...

With a heavy sigh, Marguerite O'Neill turned her back upon the sea and walked slowly back towards the inn. As she drew near, the sound of revelry grew louder and more distinct. She could distinguish Lord Anthony Dewhurst’s boisterous guffaws, Sir Daniel’s pleasant voice and her husband’s occasional comments and it only heightened her feelings of exclusion. She quickened her steps only to realise a stranger was coming rapidly towards her.

The stranger paused when he saw Marguerite and just as she was about to slip past him, he said very quietly, "Marguerite St. Just.”

Surprised to hear her maiden name, she looked up at the stranger and with a cry of unfeigned pleasure; she put out both her hands effusively towards him.

“Chauvelin!” she exclaimed.

“At your service,” said the stranger, gallantly kissing the tips of her fingers. It was the older of the two strangers who had spent hours sitting in the coffee room, watching and listening. 

“Chauvelin … I am so pleased to see you, my friend,” said Marguerite and she really was. His presence brought back memories of happier times in Paris. However, she never noticed the sarcastic little smile that hovered round his thin lips.

“But tell me,” she added merrily, “what in the world are you doing here in England?”

They turned back towards the inn as Chauvelin asked after her health.

They had reached the porch but Marguerite seemed loath to go in. The evening air was lovely after the storm and she had found a friend who exhaled the breath of Paris; someone who knew Armand well and could talk of all the merry, brilliant friends whom she had left behind. So she lingered under the pretty porch, while through the window of the coffee-room sounds of laughter, of calls for more beer, the tapping of mugs and the clinking of dice, mingled with Sir Jonathon’s inane and mirthless laugh. 

Chauvelin stood beside her, his shrewd, pale eyes fixed on her face, reading more there than she would have liked to give away. 

“You surprise me,” he said quietly, as he took a pinch of snuff.

“Do I now?” she retorted gaily. “I should have thought you would have guessed that an atmosphere composed of fogs and virtues would never suit Marguerite St. Just.”

“Dear me is it as bad as that?” he asked, in mock consternation.

“Quite,” she retorted, “and worse.”

“Strange! Now, I thought that a pretty woman would have found English country life peculiarly attractive.”

“Yes! So did I,” she said with a sigh.

“I wonder,” Chauvelin retorted, gallantly, “that the cleverest woman in Europe is troubled with ennui.”

She laughed. “It must be pretty bad, mustn’t it?” she said archly, “or I should not have been so pleased to see you.”

“And this within a year of a romantic love match! …” he raised an eyebrow.

“Yes …," she said sourly, "a year of a romantic love match … that’s just the difficulty …”

“Ah! … that idyllic folly,” said Chauvelin, with quiet sarcasm, “did not then survive the lapse of … weeks?”

“Idyllic follies never last, my little Chauvelin …”

Chauvelin took another pinch of snuff, he seemed very much addicted to that habit but perhaps he found it a convenient veil for disguising the quick, shrewd glances with which he strove to read the expressions of whom he came in contact.

“No wonder,” he repeated carefully, “you are troubled with ennui.”

“I was in hopes that you had a prescription against the malady.”

“How can I hope to succeed in that which Sir Jonathon O'Neill has failed to accomplish?”

“Shall we leave Sir Jonathon out of the question for the present?” she said harshly.

“Ah! Pardon me but that is just what we cannot very well do,” said Chauvelin, his keen eyes studying her. “I have a most perfect prescription against the worst form of boredom, which I would have been happy to submit to you but…”

“But what?”

“There is Sir Jonathon.”

“What has he to do with it?” she said irritably.

“Quite a good deal, I am afraid. The prescription I would offer is called: Work!”

“Work?” she asked, eyes wide.

Chauvelin looked at Marguerite; it seemed as if those keen, pale eyes of his were reading every one of her thoughts. They were alone together; the evening air still and their soft whispers were drowned in the noise which came from the coffee room. Still, Chauvelin took a step or two from under the porch, looked quickly all round him, then he once more came back close to Marguerite.

“Will you render France a small service, my dear?” he asked, with a sudden change of manner, his expression tinged with a singular earnestness.

“How serious you look all of a sudden…." she replied flippantly. "Indeed, it depends upon the kind of service she … you…want.”

“Have you ever heard of the Scarlet Pimpernel?” asked Chauvelin abruptly.

“Heard of the Scarlet Pimpernel?” she retorted with a long and merry laugh, “We talk of nothing else…even at the Prince of Wales’ supper party the other night we joked and made up poems about the man.”

Chauvelin had not moved while she prattled on, he didn't even attempt to stop her but he remained serious and earnest and his voice, clear, incisive, and hard, was not raised above his breath as he said, “Then, as you have heard of that enigmatic person, you must also have known that the man who hides his identity under that strange pseudonym is the most bitter enemy of our republic, of France … of men like Armand St. Just.”

“I dare swear he is…. France has many bitter enemies these days.”

“But you are a daughter of France and should be ready to help her in a moment of deadly peril," he said earnestly.

“My brother Armand devotes his life to France,” she retorted proudly; “as for me, I can do nothing … here in England….”

He moved closer, almost into her personal space, “Yes, you …here, in England, you alone can help us…. Listen…I have been sent over here by the Republican Government as its representative. I present my credentials to Mr. Pitt in London tomorrow. One of my duties here is to find out all about this League of the Scarlet Pimpernel."

He went on to reiterate the danger to France by the repeated escape of these fugitives who went on to try and provoke feeling against the Republic, pacing in front of her in his agitation. Finally he stopped and turned to her again.

"Now, within the last month, scores of these émigrés have succeeded in crossing the Channel. Their escape in each instance was planned and organised by this society, headed by a man whose brain seems as resourceful as his identity is mysterious. All efforts have failed to discover who he is, who beneath this strange anonymity calmly works at the destruction of France.

"I mean to strike at him and for this I want your help and then through him afterwards I can reach the rest of the gang. He is a young buck in English society, of that I feel sure. Find that man for me,” he urged, “find him for France!”

Marguerite had listened to Chauvelin’s impassioned speech without uttering a word. She had told him before that this mysterious hero of romance was the talk of the smart set to which she belonged. 

She had little sympathy for the haughty French aristocrats, insolent in their pride of caste, of whom the Countess de Tournay was so typical an example. However, she was excited by the risks taken, by the bravery and perhaps most of all by the intelligence behind such escapades.

“Find him for France!” Chauvelin’s voice close to her ear dragged her from her fantasies. The mysterious hero had vanished and not twenty yards away from her, a man was drinking and laughing, to whom she had given her wedding vows of faith and loyalty.

“Where in the world am I to look for him?” she asked casually.

“You go everywhere,” whispered Chauvelin, insinuatingly, “Lady O'Neill is the pivot of social London, so I am told … you see everything, you hear everything.”

“Easy, my friend,” retorted Marguerite, drawing herself up to her full height “You seem to forget that there is six feet of Sir Jonathon O'Neill and a long line of ancestors to stand between Lady O'Neill and such a thing as you propose." She hesitated a moment and then smiled, "You talk nonsense anyway; for even if you did know who this Scarlet Pimpernel is, you could do nothing to him, an Englishman.”

“I’d take my chance on that,” said Chauvelin, with a dry, rasping little laugh. “At any rate we could send him to the guillotine first to cool his ardour, then, when there is a diplomatic fuss about it, we can apologise.”

“What you propose is horrible, Chauvelin,” she said, drawing away from him. “Whoever the man may be, he is brave and noble and I would never lend a hand to such villainy.” 

“You prefer to be insulted by every French aristocrat who comes to this country?”

Chauvelin had taken sure aim when he shot this tiny shaft. Marguerite’s cheeks became pale and she bit her lower lip, for she wouldn't let him see that the shaft had struck home.

“That is beside the question,” she said at last with indifference. “I can defend myself but I refuse to do any dirty work for you, even for France. You have other means at your disposal; you must use them, my friend.”

And without another look at Chauvelin, Marguerite O'Neill turned her back on him and walked straight into the inn.

“That is not your last word, my dear,” said Chauvelin, as a flood of light from the passage illumined her elegant, richly-clad figure, “we meet in London, I hope!”

“We meet in London,” she said, speaking over her shoulder at him, “but that is my last word.”

As she disappeared from his view he remained under the porch for a moment or two. He had received a rebuke and a snub but he looked neither abashed nor disappointed; on the contrary, a curious smile, half sarcastic and wholly satisfied, played around the corners of his mouth.

~~~~

Sir Jonathon stepped into the night air after perhaps imbibing too liberally. He had a long drive planned this night and needed a clear head. He wasn't sure where his wife was at that moment and he was in no mood to think about her just now anyway.

A trail of smoke wafting from the end of the building, near the stables, informed him that he wasn't alone in his need for fresh air. Wondering who was there he turned in that direction and a quiet voice floated to him.

"Jack?"

Smiling he approached his friend. "Daniel."

This was the first time in a while, too long really, that he'd been able to spend time with his closest friend when they weren't in the company of others. Suddenly he realised there was no need for words; just his quiet companionship was relaxing. He leaned back against the wall, shoulder to shoulder with his friend and lit his cigar, his smoke merging with that of Daniel's and he gave a sigh of satisfaction.

"This is pleasant," Daniel commented.

"Mmmm."

"You're still driving back tonight?"

"Yes, Marguerite doesn't wish to remain from town for long."

Daniel was immediately sorry for inadvertently bringing up the subject of Jack's wife. He didn't think his friend knew of his wife's foray into attempted infidelity - at least he hoped it was still only attempted but that was something he had no way of knowing - and while he knew the marriage had its problems he'd never dared to ask Jack about it. While selfishly he might hope Jack didn't love her as he didn't think she was worth it, altruistically he wanted Jack to be happy. If, for Jack, happiness meant loving Marguerite then he hoped he was caring enough to desire his friend's wish be fulfilled.

Of course, Jack had no inkling of Daniel's wandering thoughts; he was too busy with his own; wondering how he'd got himself into such a mess. Daniel sighed, blowing a ring of smoke, dragging Jack's thoughts back to now as with a smile he admitted he knew damn well what the cause was.

"That was a heavy sigh, problem?" Jack asked.

"Merely life, my friend, life and the stumbling blocks that one has to avoid; self-inflicted or otherwise," he replied with weary resignation. "Why is it always the one you don't want, wants you but the one you're interested in…?" Daniel's voice faded as he realised how close he'd almost come to saying too much.

"Ah, do I detect a wistful heart?" Jack queried without thinking and Daniel's startled glance gave him cause for thought. He seemed almost guilty. Oh no! Don't let him be caught in my wife's web like so many others, not Daniel. Carefully, he asked, "Anyone I know?"

"Yes," Daniel laughed, attempting to cover his slip with humour, "and as you've guessed it is unrequited and hopeless."

"It's not …serious, I hope," Jack said quietly, his fears not assuaged.

"If I let it but I've accepted that it can never be," Daniel replied honestly.

"I'm sorry," replied Jack sincerely.

Daniel shrugged and not wanting to continue with the conversation he quickly changed the subject. "You leave soon?"

Jack nodded, absently considering changing his mind and not leaving until the morning.

"Sir Jonathon, the horses are being put to the carriage," Mr Jellyband interrupted.

The words brought him down with a bump, whatever was he thinking? "Call my lady wife," he said shortly.

"We'll meet again soon," Daniel said.

Throwing his unfinished cigar away Jack gave him a long look before taking him by the shoulders and pulling him in for a quick embrace, then turning he walked away. 

~~~~

It was as if the rain had washed the sky clear as the stars shone brightly overhead.

The magnificent open landau, drawn by four of the finest thoroughbreds in England, was being driven along the London road by Sir Jonathon O'Neill with Lady Marguerite alongside him wrapped in costly furs. A little way ahead a liveried outrider led the way and two armed footmen clung to the rear of the carriage but as far as Marguerite was concerned they were alone.

A fifty-mile drive on a starlit summer’s night was Marguerite's notion of delight. Sir Jonathon was an excellent driver and his four thoroughbreds, which had been sent down to Dover a couple of days before, were just sufficiently fresh and restive to add zest to the journey. Marguerite looked with anticipation on few hours of solitude, with the soft night breeze fanning her cheeks. 

She knew from experience that Sir Jonathon would speak little, if at all. He was very fond of driving by night and she had very quickly adopted the habit. She would sit next him hour after hour, admiring the dexterous confident way he handled the reins. She often wondered what went on in that head of his as he sat silently beside her but he never told her and she never cared to ask.

Glancing at him now she saw an unusual expression on his face, not the usual blank one that made her consider the possibility that perhaps his mind was as blank as his look. This night he was decidedly pensive and she wondered why.

~~~~

Back at the inn, Mr. Jellyband was putting out the lights. His bar customers had all gone and upstairs in the bedrooms, his important guests had retired for the night. He had two more bedrooms ready for Lord Anthony Dewhurst and Sir Daniel Jackson, expecting the two young gentlemen to stay the night.

Just now they were comfortably installed in the coffee-room, before the huge log-fire, which, in spite of the mildness of the evening, had been allowed to burn merrily.

“I say, Jelly, has everyone gone?” asked Sir Daniel, as the worthy landlord still busied himself clearing away glasses and mugs.

“Everyone, as you see, sir.”

“Then we can talk here undisturbed for half an hour?” Lord Anthony enquired.

“At your service, my lord…. I’ll leave your candles on the dresser … and your rooms are quite ready."

“All right, Jelly … and … put the lamp out …the fire’ll give us all the light we need, we don’t want to attract any attention.”

"Very well, my lord.”

“Let’s have a bottle of wine, Jelly,” suggested Sir Daniel.

Jellyband went off to fetch the wine. The room now was quite dark, save for the circle of light formed by the brightly blazing logs in the hearth.

“Is that all, gentlemen?” asked Jellyband, as he returned with a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses, which he placed on the table.

“That’ll do nicely, thanks, Jelly!” said Lord Anthony.

“Then good-night, gentlemen!”

“Good-night, Jelly!”

The two young men listened whilst the heavy tread of Mr. Jellyband was heard echoing along the passage until the whole inn seemed asleep except for the men drinking in silence beside the hearth.

For a while no sound was heard, even in the coffee-room, save the ticking of the old grandfather clock and the crackling of the burning wood.

“All right again this time, Jackson?” asked Lord Anthony at last.

Sir Daniel was day-dreaming evidently, gazing into the fire, perhaps seeing a troubled pair of deep brown eyes and a strong mouth. "Er.. yes." 

“No hitch?”

“None.”

Lord Anthony laughed pleasantly as he poured himself another glass of wine.

“I need not ask, I suppose, whether you found the journey pleasant this time?”

"You mean the young lady," he sighed. "I could wish…," he hesitated not wanting to say too much. "It was all right."

"You are not as …interested as she then?" asked Anthony, somewhat surprised for Suzanne was a beauty.

Daniel shrugged and Anthony took the hint.

“You’ll be doing the journey next I expect, Anthony,” said Sir Daniel, rousing himself from his meditations, “you and Hastings.”

A sudden earnestness crept over Anthony's face as he waited for his instructions.

The two drew their chairs closer together and instinctively, though they were alone, their voices sank to a whisper.

“I saw the Scarlet Pimpernel alone, for just a few moments in Calais,” said Sir Daniel, “a day or two ago. He crossed over to England two days before we did. He had escorted the party all the way from Paris, dressed as an old market woman, and driving …until they were safely out of the city… the covered cart concealing the De Tournay family. They never suspected who their driver was. He drove them right through the soldiers post and a yelling, screaming mob. God, the man's a marvel, such nerve!” 

Lord Anthony grinned, partly at the antics of their leader and partly at the enthusiasm in Daniel's voice as he spoke of the man he so clearly admired.

“He wants you and Hastings to meet him at Calais,” said Sir Daniel, more quietly, “next Wednesday.”

“Very well.”

“It is, of course, the Count de Tournay, this time; a dangerous task. After his miraculous escape from his château..,"

"Planned, or course, by the Pimpernel," interjected Lord Anthony.

Daniel nodded acknowledgement before continuing, "…he is now under sentence of death. It will be difficult to get him out of France; you'll have a fight on your hands I expect. St. Just has actually gone to meet him; luckily, no one suspects St. Just as yet; but after that … get them both out of the country. Damn, this will be a hard one, even for the chief. I hope I may yet have orders to be in the party," he added earnestly.

“Have you any special instructions for me?”

“Yes! The Republican Government has sent an agent over here, a man named Chauvelin. He's said to be very bitter against the League and determined to discover the identity of our leader. He wants to capture him the next time he attempts to set foot in France so the chief thinks we should meet as seldom as possible on the business of the League. When he wants to speak to us, he'll let us know.”

They were hunched closer to the fire now as it died down with only a red glow from the embers casting a lurid glow on a narrow semi-circle of floor in front of the hearth. The rest of the room lay buried in complete gloom. Sir Daniel took a leather wallet from his pocket and withdrew a paper, which they attempted to study in the dim light. 

They were so intent trying to read the important message from the Pimpernel that all their attention was on the piece of paper. The sounds around them faded the dropping of the crisp ash from the grate, the monotonous ticking of the clock -- the soft, almost imperceptible rustle of something on the floor nearby. 

A figure had emerged from under one of the benches; with snake-like, noiseless movements, hardly breathing as it stalked the two young men in the darkened room.

“Read these instructions and commit them to memory,” said Sir Daniel, “then destroy the note.”

In the process of returning the leather case to his pocket, a tiny slip of paper fluttered from it on to the floor. Anthony stooped and picked it up.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” replied Sir Daniel, unfolding it. "I certainly didn't know it was there." He had no doubt who it was from.

They were trying to decipher this tiny scrap of paper on which a few words had been hastily scrawled, when suddenly a noise attracted their attention. It seemed to come from the passage beyond.

“What’s that?” said both instinctively. Lord Anthony crossed the room towards the door, throwing it open quickly; to receive a stunning blow between the eyes. He was thrown violently back into the room. Simultaneously the crouching figure hiding in the darkened room jumped up and hurled itself from behind upon the unsuspecting Sir Daniel, knocking him to the ground.

Within a matter of seconds both men were rendered unconscious, not even having a chance to cry out, let alone to put up a fight. They were each seized by two men, quickly gagged and securely tied back to back. 

While the others completed their work, a masked man had quietly closed the door.

“All safe,” said one of the assailants, as he took a final survey of the bonds which secured the two young men.

“Good!” replied the man at the door; “now search them and give me any papers.”

The masked man having taken possession of all the papers listened for a moment or two to ensure there was no sound within the inn and once satisfied the attack had remained unheard, he opened the door and pointed peremptorily down the passage. The four men lifted Sir Daniel and Lord Anthony and as quietly as they had come, they carried their two prisoners out of the inn and along the Dover Road.

In the coffee-room the man removed and his mask, his pale eyes glittering in the flow from the fire as he searched among the stolen papers. “Not a bad day’s work on the whole,” he muttered

He opened one or two more letters from Sir Daniel Jackson’s wallet, noted the scrap of paper which the two young men had only just had time to read; but one letter especially, signed Armand St. Just, gave him strange satisfaction.

“Armand St. Just a traitor after all,” he murmured. “Now, Marguerite O'Neill,” he added viciously, “I think that you will help me find the Scarlet Pimpernel.”

~~~~~

The Covent Garden Theatre was packed for a gala night including the smart orchestra boxes and the pit, as well as in the balconies and galleries above. Some had come for the opera, others to be seen as part of the fashionable elite, while the poor had come just for the spectacle and not necessarily the one on stage.

In the smart orchestra boxes many well-known faces were to be seen such as Mr. Pitt, the Prime Minister who was taking a well deserved break from the cares of state. The Prince of Wales, fat and jovial, moved about from box to box, spending a brief fifteen minutes with his more intimate friends. Chauvelin was there too, dressed all in black as he surveyed the crowd with a shrewd eye, a guest of the reluctant Lord Grenville, Foreign Secretary of State.

Here and there among the audience a few foreign faces stood out: the haughty French royalist émigrés who, persecuted in their country, had found a refuge in England.

Among these the Countess de Tournay was a conspicuous figure dressed in black as if in mourning. Seated beside her was Lady Portarles, who tried vainly to bring a smile to the Countess’s sad mouth. Suzanne and the Viscount were sitting just behind them, both silent and shy among so many strangers. When Suzanne first entered the crowded house, she had looked eagerly around, scanning every face, scrutinising every box but evidently the one face she wished to see was not there.

Seeing Lord Grenville, Lady Portarles asked him for any news from France and he reluctantly told her and her guests that matters were deteriorating and the guillotine still claimed over a hundred victims a day. The Countess was distressed at what she was hearing, her guilt rising anew that she was safe in England, sitting in a theatre while her husband faced terrible dangers, all alone.

Lady Portarles attempted to snap the Countess out of her self-pity by reminding her that nothing she did would change matters and that her first concern had to be her children.

“Besides which, Madame,” added Lord Grenville, “you told me only yesterday that the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel had pledged their honour to bring your husband to safety."

“Oh, yes,” replied the Countess with a soft sigh, “that is my only hope. I saw Lord Hastings yesterday … he reassured me again.”

“Then I am sure you need have no fear. What the League has sworn it will surely accomplish. If I were only a few years younger…” added the elderly diplomat, a twinkle in his eye. 

“Ha!” interrupted Lady Portarles, “you are still young enough to turn your back on that French scarecrow who shared your box to-night.” 

“I wish I could, unfortunately he is the accredited representative of his government …”

“Government!” she retorted, “That's not what you call those bloodthirsty ruffians!”

Grenville attempted to explain the civilities of diplomatic relations but soon came to the conclusion that neither lady was receptive to such ideas. Lady Portarles was of the firm opinion that 'the foreign upstart' was only here for one reason, to stop the Pimpernel and his League.

“I am sure,” interjected the Countess, “that this Chauvelin will find a faithful ally in Lady O'Neill.”

"Countess!" declared Lady Portarles, “Lady O'Neill may or may not be in sympathy with those ruffians in France; she may or may not have had anything to do with the arrest and condemnation of St. Cyr, however she is the leader of fashion in this country. Sir Jonathon O'Neill is as rich as sin and he is hand in glove with royalty. Trying to snub Lady O'Neill will not harm her but will make a fool of you... Isn’t that so, my lord?”

Lord Grenville's opinion wouldn’t be known as the curtain rose for the third act of the opera and he bade the ladies a hasty farewell to return to his box -- which Chauvelin had never left. 

All through the interval, his keen pale eyes were intently fixed upon a box opposite where, with much laughter that caused a general stir of curiosity among the audience Marguerite O'Neill had just entered, accompanied by her husband. She was looking remarkably pretty, dressed in the height of fashion and festooned with magnificent jewellery, the gift of her husband who sprawled leisurely in his chair by her side, seemingly bored already.

Before taking her seat she stood to survey the scene, nodding and receiving bows from many present, including one from the royal box.

Chauvelin watched her intently all through the commencement of the third act. She appeared enthralled with the music, her lips smiled and her eyes sparkled, because unknown to the Frenchman, two days before the Day Dream had returned from Calais, bringing her news that Armand had safely landed and that he promised to be careful.

~~~~

Sir Jonathon stayed in the box just as long as convention demanded. His wife's coterie would soon be visiting their box and he had no wish to witness their fawning pleasantries. He yawned broadly and rose from his seat.

"I think I'm in need of some fresh air, m'dear," he said, even as the door to the box opened and His Royal Highness swept in. Sir Jonathon bowed and smiled at his prince indicating his now empty seat. "I was just about to leave in search of other entertainments."

"By all means, Sir Jonathon, let me keep your good lady company." 

He bowed again to the Prince Regent, nodded to his wife and left. He knew very well that before long other admirers would fill their box paying court to his beautiful spouse but then they didn't really know her, did they?

He wandered along the corridor stopping and saying a friendly word every now and then. To an observer he seemed just one more bored man waiting for the next act of the opera to start, seeking conversation in the meantime but in reality he was searching for someone in particular. In truth he probably shouldn't be doing so, he had instructed that they should all go their separate ways for a time but he'd been feeling something was amiss for the last few days. He suddenly needed to see Daniel.

Ever since he'd left him at the inn a few nights back, all he could think of was how close he'd come to finally kissing Daniel. He swore to himself over a year ago that he would control his yearnings; that it was unfair to his friend to allow his overwhelming feelings to come between them, to spoil a friendship he valued so highly. All his plans seemed to have been for nought. That night in the half light, standing shoulder to shoulder like that it was all too obvious his feelings were as strong as ever. He could smell Daniel and he suddenly had this insane urge to taste him. It had taken all his willpower to walk away.

He could still remember the exact moment when he realised he had fallen in love with his best friend. It had been an ordinary summer's day just short of two years ago. He'd been working at his desk in his study and Daniel was sitting in the window seat reading one of his history books. Jack looked up to ask his friend a question - could never after remember about what - and his life had changed. 

Daniel was sitting with his back against the side panelling, his feet up so his book was resting against his knees. The sun was shining gently through the window turning his fair hair to gold and making him squint a little against the light. The fingers of one hand held a page gently, just about to turn it over and Jack's eyes were caught by the movement. He'd never realised before just how slender Daniel’s fingers were, how bright his eyes were - god just how beautiful he was. As if he’d realised he was being watched, Daniel looked up, met Jack's eyes and smiled. Jack felt his heart turn over in his chest and his lips went dry. 

That was only the beginning. Jack couldn't stop watching Daniel. Jack watched the way Daniel controlled his horse when they went riding, loved to see the easy strength of the man. He watched the way the younger man moved when they fenced, the coiled tension in his body. He watched Daniel’s mouth as he spoke, as he ate; watching as he swallowed and Jack couldn't help the reaction in his groin. 

When they went to the boxing club Jack found he couldn't help but watch the delineation of Daniel’s muscles and wondered how they would feel beneath his fingers and then he wondered how it would feel to have those same elegant fingers on his body.

Then the fantasies started. 

Suddenly he couldn't bear to be in this corridor among twittering females and men talking of nothing more important that which style of cravat to wear. He strode directly to the box that had been reserved for Daniel that evening and found it was empty. There was no sign that he'd even arrived yet and Jack decided to wait quietly for him to arrive; if he didn't then he was sure to see him at the ball later. At least it was peaceful here in this small private and enclosed place.

It was dark in the box and Jack chose to sit at the back even more in the shadows. He wasn't interested in either watching the opera or the audience. Instead he sat quietly and let his mind wander back to the very first fantasy he'd ever had. His first and his favourite.

He was in his study and Daniel was in the window seat, just as it really happened only this time when the younger man looked up and smiled Jack rose and walked over to him. Daniel looked a little afraid and his mouth was slightly open as if he was going to ask a question but no words came. Slowly Jack leaned down and covered that mouth with his own. Daniel gasped a little in shock but when Jack's hands came to rest on his shoulders urging him to rise, the younger man got to his feet eagerly. They stared at each other for a moment then by mutual silent consent their lips met, mouths opened and Jack sighed with utter contentment as he tasted him for the first time.

Slowly the scene changed and they were lying naked in his bed. Jack was learning first hand what it felt like to touch and be touched by the man he had come to realise he loved and in this little private world of his, Daniel loved him back. 

Daniel was kissing his chest and brushing his fingers over Jack's nipples as he was moving his hands up and down Daniel's spine and over his buttocks; they both writhed against each other. Lips were kissing and nipping each other everywhere they could reach, creating heat that raced along nerves till each man was shivering with desire. Their cocks slid past each other with every move, creating more and more friction until Jack was panting with the need to come and with the need to see the look in Daniel's eyes as his own orgasm hit. 

As Jack relived the fantasy sitting in the dark as the opera reached its crescendo all he felt was despair that he would never really see what Daniel looked like in the throes of ecstasy. 

~~~~

Marguerite didn't even give consideration to where her husband may have gone; she had her own little court around her. After a while she dismissed everyone wishing to listen to the music in peace, until a discreet knock at the door roused her from her enjoyment.

“Come in,” she said impatiently.

Chauvelin had waited until she was alone and ignoring the impatience in the call to enter slipped into the box to stand behind Marguerite’s chair.

“A word with you,” he said quietly.

Marguerite turned quickly, in alarm, "Damn but you frightened me,” she said with a forced laugh, “your presence is entirely unwelcome. I want to listen to the music and have no desire to talk now.”

“But this is my only opportunity,” he replied keeping his voice low as he drew up a chair close behind her -- so close that he could whisper in her ear without being seen or heard from the shadows of the box. "You are always surrounded, fêted by your…admirers, that a mere old friend has little chance.”

She tried to put him off, suggesting they speak later at Lord Grenville's ball.

“I think that you will be wise to listen to me now," he said in that quiet voice that was somehow filled with menace.

“Your brother, St. Just, is in peril.”

Marguerite fought to control her disquiet, knowing it would only give him ammunition, which he wouldn't hesitate to use against her. She may have called him friend but that didn't mean she didn't know what he was capable of. She pretended not to believe him, not to care as she tried to listen to the music. He just sat there behind her and waited. 

After a few minutes she could bear it no longer and asked, “About my brother?”

"I have news of him -- but first I would explain."

Her nerves were twanging with tension which was precisely his intention, as she realised. She kept quiet.

“The other day,” he said, “I asked for your help…France needed it, I thought I could rely on you but you refused. Since then many things have happened….” He hesitated to take a pinch of snuff. He knew how to prolong the torture.

"The day we met at Dover," he continued, "less than an hour after you refused to help me, I came into possession of certain papers. Papers which revealed plans for the escape of some French aristocrats -- that traitor de Tournay among others -- organised by the Pimpernel. Some of the…threads of this mysterious organisation have also fallen into my hands but not all and I insist you help me capture the rest.”

"Insist! I have no interest in this entire conversation and had you not spoken about my brother…”

“A little patience, my lady,” he continued imperturbably. “Two gentlemen, Lord Anthony Dewhurst and Sir Daniel Jackson were at The Fisherman’s Rest that same night.”

“I know. I saw them there.”

“I already knew they were members of the Pimpernel's League. It was Sir Daniel Jackson who escorted the Countess de Tournay and her children across the Channel. After you and your husband left and when they were alone, I arranged for their…capture and studied their papers.”

Papers? The danger was evident. Had her brother been careless? What could he have put down on paper…? She couldn't allow Chauvelin to know how afraid she was.

"Quite a risk you took there, my dear Chauvelin, violence, theft …kidnapping! Your men could have been caught."

"They would never have betrayed me, they are loyal to France."

“And what of these papers?” she asked carelessly.

"Though they provide some information, enough to thwart the projected plan, I think, I am still ignorant of the identity of the leader."

"Then it appeared you risked much for nought. Allow me to return to my enjoyment of the music. You have ruined enough of my evening, all this talk of Armand…"

"Dear lady, I am coming to him now. Among the papers was a letter he had written to Sir Daniel.

"And?"

"It is now clear he is in sympathy with the enemies of France, he may even be a member of the League."

Chauvelin may have taken a while to loose his bolt but his aim was perfect.

Even though she had expected something bad, she had never expected this. And that Armand had been stupid enough to commit it to paper? 

She did the only thing she could, she bluffed. Laughing she said, "My dear Chauvelin, you have excelled yourself. What an imagination! Armand in league with the enemies of France, with the Pimpernel, never!"

"You are well aware I do not joke. Let me make this perfectly clear. The proof against your brother is plain; he is compromised beyond the hope of pardon."

The silence in the box was deafening as Marguerite tried to use her much vaunted intelligence to think of a way out of this.

"You wish me to spy for you, to discover the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel?"

"France's most bitter enemy… all the more dangerous because he works in the shadows." 

"More noble, more brave than you can understand," she retorted. She sighed, "So you would force me to spy for you in exchange for Armand's safety, yes?"

He smiled coldly, "You do me a service and you win a free pardon for Armand, it's that simple."

"Simple!" she exclaimed. "What do you wish me to do?" she asked her voice quietening.

"Just watch for me tonight at the ball. Among the papers found on Sir Daniel Jackson there was a scrap of paper, just a short note." Removing from his pocket the note he had taken from the coffee room four days earlier, he handed it to her.

She carefully read the two lines: “Remember we must not meet more often than is strictly necessary. You have your instructions. If you wish to speak to me again, I shall be at G.’s ball.”

“What does it mean?” she asked.

"Look again, you will see. Here in the corner," he pointed, "a small red flower."

"The sign of the Pimpernel!" she declared. "I see and G's ball means Lord Grenville's soiree tonight."

"That is correct," he agreed. "I had the two young men taken to an isolated house on the Dover Road where I kept them prisoner until this morning. I was able to learn nothing else…"

Interrupting she laughed, "You mean to tell me you were unable to make them answer any questions? Oh my dear, Chauvelin you are slipping."

"If you had allowed me to finish," he said sharply, "The note specifies the Pimpernel will be at the ball tonight and they will have much to report after their capture and imprisonment. They were kept very well secured in the house until I allowed them to escape this morning. As I wish them to attend the ball it would've been…shall we say awkward …if they had shown up…damaged." 

He saw no reason to explain to her ladyship that indeed he attempted to get the men to reveal information. He'd attempted persuasion, coercion, even bribery; all to no avail which didn't surprise him in the slightest. Then he resorted to threats which he knew were limited as he did not wish them to be marked. 

He did allow his men to throw a few punches at each man but only on the body. He was not at all squeamish about the use of physical torture, it was just inconvenient in this particular instance. A fact hammered home when he questioned Sir Daniel Jackson.

His men had been softening up Sir Daniel for a couple of minutes which he knew was all he could allow them to do. He entered the room to see his captive tied to a hard backed chair, leaning forward as far as he was able, trying to protect his abdomen.

"Are you more willing to answer my questions now?" Chauvelin asked.

Jackson looked up, his eyes hard, his mouth a thin line. "I will never answer your questions, I would die first."

Looking into the man's eyes, Chauvelin knew he meant those words literally. Whoever the Scarlet Pimpernel was he was able to engender remarkable loyalty in his friends and cohorts and for a split-second Chauvelin felt an unaccountable jealousy that his nemesis was deemed worthy of such devotion. 

Then, looking into the determined face of Sir Daniel, Chauvelin's emotion changed from jealousy to hatred; this young man and his compatriot embodied everything he hated. They helped the enemies of his beloved France escape and he would have liked nothing better than to end their miserable lives. It was only the realisation that he needed them alive to tempt their mysterious leader that stopped him ordering their deaths on the spot.

He swiftly left the room before the temptation to wipe that proud look from Jackson's face got the better of him.

"It really does seem simple to you, doesn't it?" the bitterness in Marguerite's voice brought him back to the present. "You just hold a knife at my throat, a hostage for my obedience."

"It is simple," he replied, "I offer you the chance to save your brother from his own folly."

Speaking only to herself perhaps, she breathed, "The only person who has ever truly loved me…" She sighed, fighting desperation. "What do you want me to do?" 

“As Lady O'Neill, no one will suspect you and with your help to-night perhaps I may finally establish the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel. You are going to the ball soon. Watch for me there, watch and listen. Note everyone to whom Sir Daniel Jackson or Lord Anthony Dewhurst speaks. The Scarlet Pimpernel will be at the ball to-night. Find out who he is and I will pledge that your brother shall be safe.”

Chauvelin was pressing his figurative knife to her throat and she couldn't see an escape. A precious hostage was being held for her obedience; she knew Chauvelin would never make an empty threat. No doubt Armand was already reported to the Committee of Public Safety; he would not be allowed to leave France again and he would pay the forfeit if she failed. Even as the thought occurred she realised she had no guarantee of success.

"What if I cannot find the answer you seek, no matter how hard I try?" she asked, dreading his answer.

“That would be terrible indeed,” he said quietly, “for you … and for St. Just.”

She shuddered. He held the life of her brother in the palm of his hand and she knew there was no mercy in this man. All his devotion was for his country, he had nothing left for anything else.

For a moment she wondered if there was anyone she could turn to for help. The obvious choice would have been her husband. Sir Jonathon felt a responsibility to her, she was sure. Could she turn to him now? Could she trust that he would stand by her, help her through this terrible ordeal? He was not very clever it was true but he was a strong man, he had contacts, surely… Also, he seemed to like Armand. Could she turn to him?

A discreet tap on the door preceded its opening and as if her very thoughts had brought him to her, Sir Jonathon entered. Tall, good-looking, strong, wearing that half-shy, half-amused smile that these days merely seemed to irritate her, he gave the appearance of being everything she needed.

Then he spoke clearly and with his most exasperating drawl, "M'dear, your sedan chair is outside. I suppose you still want to go to this ball? Ah, excuse me …er…Chauvelin…. I didn't see you. Are you coming, m’dear?”

“Hush! Sh! Sh!” came from the adjoining boxes.

“Impudence,” commented Sir Jonathon with a good-natured smile.

Marguerite sighed impatiently. Her last hope seemed suddenly to have vanished and she wrapped her cloak around herself without looking at her husband:

“I am ready to go,” she said, taking his arm. At the door of the box she turned and looked straight at Chauvelin, who had a curious smile round his thin lips. “It is only au revoir, Chauvelin,” she said, “we shall meet at my Lord Grenville’s ball shortly.”

~~~~

Though the autumn season had only just begun, everybody who was anybody had contrived to be in London to be present at Lord Grenville's ball. His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales had promised to be present, coming on from the opera as were many of the guests.

By ten o’clock, the grand rooms of the Foreign Office, exquisitely decorated, were filled to overflowing. One room had been set apart for dancing and the strains of the minuet made a soft accompaniment to the chatter and the merry laughter.

In a smaller chamber, facing the top of the fine staircase, the distinguished host stood to receive his guests. Visitors from every European country had already filed past him, had exchanged elaborate bows and curtsies and then, laughing and talking, dispersed into the ball, reception and card rooms beyond.

Not far from Lord Grenville, leaning against one of the console tables, Chauvelin, in his irreproachable black costume, was taking a quiet survey of the brilliant throng. He noted that Sir Jonathon and Lady O'Neill had not yet arrived and his keen, pale eyes glanced quickly towards the door every time a new-comer appeared.

He stood somewhat isolated; the envoy of the Revolutionary Government of France was not likely to be very popular in England. In his official capacity he was received courteously by his English colleagues. Mr. Pitt shook him by the hand; Lord Grenville entertained him more than once but the more intimate circles of London society ignored him altogether. The women openly turned their backs upon him and the men who held no official position refused to shake his hand.

But Chauvelin was not the man to trouble himself about these social amenities. He was blindly enthusiastic for the revolutionary cause. He was supremely indifferent to the snubs he received in this fog-ridden, loyalist, old-fashioned England. He was of the firm opinion that the French aristocracy was an enemy of France and he wished every one of them dead, including those who had escaped to other lands where they tried to incite foreign powers to send troops into Paris and free the old king.

It was hardly surprising then that the Scarlet Pimpernel was a source of bitter hatred to Chauvelin. The vast majority of the aristocrats who escaped from France had done so with his help and that of his League, access to seemingly inexhaustible funds, with cunning and great daring. Chauvelin had promised his superiors in Paris that he would discover the identity of this interloper and entice him back to France …he sighed at the very thought of seeing the head of this enigmatic man fall under the blade of the guillotine.

His reverie was disturbed by a commotion on the grand staircase as the major domo announced the arrival of the Prince of Wales, accompanied by Sir Jonathon and Lady O'Neill.

The Prince of Wales may have considered he looked gorgeous in his court suit of salmon velvet embroidered with gold but he paled in comparison to the magnificent figure Sir Jonathon cut this evening. Wearing shimmering cream satin cut to fit his excellent physique perfectly, his light brown hair free from powder so one could see how distinguished he looked when his natural silver grey highlights were brought out by the thousands of candles. 

Presently Lord Grenville requested, “Will your Highness permit me to introduce Monsieur Chauvelin, the accredited agent of the French Government?”

Chauvelin stepped forward expecting the introduction. He bowed very low, whilst the Prince returned his salute with a curt nod of the head.

“Monsieur,” said His Royal Highness coldly, “we will try to forget the government that sent you and look upon you merely as our guest, a private gentleman from France. As such you are welcome, sir.”

Lord Grenville then requested permission to introduce the de Tournay family to him to which the Prince happily agreed.

“The Countess de Tournay,” Lord Grenville introduced the lady, who then went on to introduce her daughter, Suzanne.

“Ah! Charming!” said the Prince, “and now allow me, Countess, to introduce to you, Lady O'Neill, who honours us with her friendship. You and she will have much to say to one another, I vow. Every compatriot of Lady O'Neill’s is doubly welcome for her sake…her friends are our friends…her enemies, the enemies of England.”

Marguerite’s blue eyes twinkled with merriment at this gracious speech from her exalted friend. The Countess de Tournay, who lately had so flagrantly insulted her, was here receiving a public lesson, at which Marguerite could not help but rejoice. But the Countess, for whom respect of royalty amounted almost to a religion, was too well-schooled in courtly etiquette to show the slightest sign of embarrassment, as the two ladies curtsied ceremoniously to one another.

~~~~

"We're not going to make it in time, are we?" Lord Anthony queried.

"To warn him at the opera? No, but we can make it to the ball," Daniel replied, digging his heels in again to keep his weary horse moving.

They were both well aware their 'escape' late that morning had been far too easy to have been anything but a set-up. The Frenchman had seen the note that the Scarlet Pimpernel had slipped into Daniel's pocket sometime during their time together at the inn at Dover. The man was no fool and he obviously expected them to rush off and report the whole sorry mess to their leader which explained why he had not resorted to more forceful questioning. 

The trouble was they had no option but to go to the ball and somehow warn him because the Frenchman was going to be there, that was clear and the fact that he already knew that both of them were members of the League proved he already knew too much. There would be other members of the League present too and they wouldn't have any idea that a very clever French spy was among them. All they could hope was that their prior knowledge would arm them against falling into the man's trap.

Daniel was suddenly grateful for Jack's remarkable acting ability in that no one seemed to question his alter ego as the fop and joker who seemed most concerned with his attire or his supposed wit.

"How's your stomach?" Anthony suddenly asked. He had noted that Daniel had put an arm across his abdomen a couple of miles back and it was still there.

"I'll be fine," he replied shortly. 

"Of course you will," Anthony said the amusement clear in his voice. That was always Sir Daniel's stock answer to any problem he encountered, no matter how difficult, how painful. 

Daniel didn't see the smile or hear the amusement; his thoughts were elsewhere. He was very worried about Jack and it wasn't a concern he could share. Oh, he could tell his friend he was apprehensive about the risks their leader was taking, that he wanted to help protect him, stop him from taking those outrageous risks that one day could cost him his life. What he couldn't tell anyone was the real reason why. How could he possibly tell Anthony or any of their other friends that he loved Jack and that without him he didn't think he'd be able to go on? They wouldn't understand, god he didn't really understand himself how Jack had come to mean everything to him.

It had been a slow progression. They'd met through a mutual friend and found they enjoyed each others’ company until one day he realised he’d spent more time with Jack than with any of his other friends; in fact he spent more time with the man than the rest of his friends put together. He'd never felt closer to anybody else and he decided he'd never really known what a true friend was before Jack. So it came as something of a shock when Jack suddenly announced one day that he would be going abroad on a prolonged trip and wasn't exactly sure when he would be back. 

For a short period Daniel wondered if there was something wrong, something he'd done perhaps, or maybe not done. Jack saw that he was worrying at it like a dog with a bone and he told him to stop being a fool. It had nothing to do with Daniel, it was just that he was restless, admitted that he got this way from time to time and he simply needed to get away, get a fresh outlook on his life. Daniel smiled and told Jack he would miss him but he never told Jack that he didn't believe his explanation. Jack told him that Daniel was the one person he would miss but that he'd be back before Jackson realised it.

Jack was away for three months and Daniel had never felt so lonely; until the day his friend returned with a wife and Daniel realised he'd never known the meaning of the word lonely. When he finally realised that he was in love with Jack, he discovered he could be lonely in the same room as the man he desired.

He was just grateful that shortly after he returned, Jack settled back into a routine very similar to that of his bachelor life in that Daniel got to spend a lot of time in his company; it was a kind of self-torture that he would never forego.

Then, not long after his marriage, Jack's growing anger and distress at the situation in France had become the major talking point for all of their friends until one day Jack declared that he had to do something. He was talking at the time to a small group of close friends in his drawing room following dinner. At the time Daniel had just thought it was bravado speaking after too much drink had flowed but he was wrong. A short time later Jack invited Daniel and Anthony to take a trip in the Day Dream. That turned out to be the first rescue made by the Scarlet Pimpernel and on their return the League was formed. 

Now many months later after rescuing innumerable men, woman and children from a horrifying death, the man whose cunning and courage was the cornerstone of the League was under threat. 

Daniel spurred on his flagging horse one more time. He had to get there in time, he had to.

~~~~

The Viscount de Tournay was introduced to the Prince next and told his royal highness that he owed his life to the Scarlet Pimpernel.

“Hush!” the Prince said quickly, indicating Chauvelin, who had stood to one side throughout the whole of this little scene, watching Marguerite and the Countess with an amused, sarcastic little smile around his lips. 

"No, your highness." Chauvelin spoke up having heard the Prince's attempt at secrecy "Please, do not silence the young gentleman, the name of the interesting red flower is known to me."

The Prince cocked his head to one side, studying Chauvelin. "Perhaps then, sir, you know more of our national hero than we do, perhaps you know who he is?" The Prince turned a circle, indicating the ladies. "They hang on your words, sir."

"Rumour has it in France, your highness, that you could give a true account of the wayside flower." Chauvelin looked keenly at Marguerite as he spoke but she betrayed no emotion and her eyes met his calmly.

"If I knew the truth my lips would be sealed, sir," the Prince replied. "The members of the League guard his secret well and his admirers must worship a shadow. Here in England we know not if he is tall or short, fair or dark; we know only that he is brave and we are proud he is a fellow Englishman."

“Ah, Monsieur Chauvelin,” added Marguerite, looking almost with defiance at the placid Frenchman, “His Royal Highness should add that we ladies think of him as of a hero…we worship him…we wear his badge…we tremble for him when he is in danger and exult in the hour of his victory.”

A long, jovial, laugh broke the sudden silence which had fallen over everyone.

“And we poor husbands,” Sir Jonathon spoke in a slow affected accent, “we have to stand by … while they worship a shadow.”

Everyone laughed, the Prince more loudly than anyone. The tension of subdued excitement was relieved and the next moment everyone was laughing and chatting merrily as the crowd broke up and dispersed into the adjoining rooms.

Watching her husband, Marguerite's temper was rising inexorably and there was little she could do to curb it. Her nerves were stretched to the limit and the one person she should be able to turn to for support was standing there surrounded by young men and women as foolish as he as he spouted some stupid doggerel.

The Prince, enchanted by her husband's wit, vowed that life without O'Neill would be but a dreary desert and then insisted on taking him to the card-room. Sir Jonathon usually allowed his wife to amuse herself as she would at such gatherings while he enjoyed the card table and tonight was no different. 

She tried not to think about Armand too much. She flirted and danced, chatted and was feted, all the time looking for signs of Sir Daniel or Lord Anthony and finally, when she began to think something had gone wrong and they weren't going to make an appearance she saw them. They had clearly only just arrived.

They both looked anxious but were both impeccably dressed and if she hadn't known from Chauvelin of the ordeal they had just been through she wouldn't have thought anything was amiss. She imagined they both must feel like rushing to the side of their leader but they both just strolled casually through the throng. She noted without surprise that Chauvelin was no longer in the ballroom.

In fact it was Suzanne de Tournay who stopped their passage when she tapped Sir Daniel on the arm and engaged him in conversation. Marguerite couldn't help but smile at the obvious infatuation her friend had for Sir Daniel and from a purely physical standpoint she couldn't fault the young woman's taste.

It was actually from Suzanne that she had learned that the Scarlet Pimpernel had promised her mother, the Countess that within a few days the League would rescue the Count. Vaguely, as she glanced around the gaily lit ballroom, she wondered who else present could be members of the League and which of them was the Pimpernel himself. She sighed at the loss of her fantasy hero, that she would be the one who betrayed him to that pig Chauvelin but for her brother there was no one she would not sacrifice.

Looking round the room she wondered just who this paragon really was. Sir Daniel Jackson? She thought not, even though she knew that behind his gentle blue eyes he was made of sterner stuff. Though, at the moment he seemed to be at a loss as to what to do with the pretty Suzanne, especially under the watchful eye of her stiff backed mother. Even as she watched he sketched a perfect bow and withdrew as the Countess prodded her daughter further into the room.

Marguerite watched as Sir Daniel strolled towards a nearby doorway, which led to a small boudoir beyond, then paused and leaned against the framework looking anxiously all round him. She suddenly felt the need to approach the young man, she didn't know why but she trusted her instincts. Even as she moved towards him she had distinctly seen Lord Hastings, another friend of her husband's and by extension of Sir Daniel's, brush past him and slip something into his hand. Why had he not stopped to speak to his friend, why the mysterious act? There was only one answer; it was the business of the League.

And in the split-second she had pondered what he saw, Sir Daniel had vanished.

He hadn't passed her to return to the ballroom which meant there was only one place he could have gone, into the boudoir beyond.

She had her clue and she wasn't going to let it go to waste. She smiled at the idea that it was Sir Daniel who was going to inadvertently betray the Pimpernel. She was still smarting from his treatment of her a couple of months back when she let him know how attractive she found him to be. All she had wanted was a little kiss, just to see if she liked it. All right, if she had enjoyed his kisses she might have suggested something more but was it really necessary to accuse her of such immorality …to insult her so basely! So, O'Neill was his friend, she would never have said anything. It would have been their little secret.

Well now, it would add a little piquancy to the game to pay him back a little. Then she remembered what was at stake and chided herself for thinking of this as a game. Still was it wrong to have her little revenge while still helping her beloved Armand?

Lady O'Neill had no place here, it was Marguerite St. Just who walked towards that boudoir to face Sir Daniel Jackson, who perhaps held the key that would save her brother's life.

On entering the boudoir she found Sir Daniel with his back to her, standing near to a large silver candelabrum on the centre table. She could see he had a small slip of paper in his hand which he was in the process of reading by the candlelight. Hardly daring to breath and making no sound on the thick carpet, she slipped in close behind him in an attempt to read the note …at just that moment he turned and saw her. 

She quickly uttered a low groan and passed a hand over her forehead, murmuring softly, "I feel faint…the heat…" She swayed as if to fall and controlling his confusion Sir Daniel swiftly crumpled the note just in time to catch her.

“You are ill, milady?” he asked with a frown. 

“No, it's…, oh a chair…." she muttered.

He helped her to a seat near to the table and sighing she closed her eyes. “There,” she said faintly, “the giddiness is passing. I shall be all right. Do not worry about me, Sir Daniel.”

He raised an eyebrow at the last comment and watched her closely for a moment but all the while his mind was on the crumpled up scrap of paper in his hand, the message from Jack. Anthony and he had agreed that they must be very careful here tonight but that one of them must get a message to the Pimpernel. Instead Jack had passed one to him through their mutual friend and League member, Lord Robert Hastings. Daniel's stomach was churning and the presence of Lady O'Neill was a distraction he didn't need…or want. He needed to destroy the note.

Marguerite too was full of nerves and in her mind's eye she was seeing visions of Armand imprisoned and under pain of death in Paris.

Though Sir Daniel hadn't uttered another word, some sixth sense alerted Marguerite and she turned to see him holding the paper to the flame of one of the candles and with perfect timing she reached out to take the still burning paper from his hand. Before he could react she blew out the flame and held the smoking paper under his nostrils.

Daniel was furious but there was little he could do without creating a scene and with the Prince Regent in the next room that was impossible. He watched with rapt fascination each move of the piece of paper in Lady O'Neill's hand and he hardly registered the words she was speaking.

“How thoughtful of you, Sir Daniel,” she said gaily, “how did you know that that the smell of burnt paper was a sovereign remedy against faintness?”

She sighed with satisfaction, holding the paper tightly which perhaps would save her brother's life. Sir Daniel was staring at her and she absently wondered if he realised the paper she now held was perhaps one on which the life of his comrade might depend.

Marguerite suddenly laughed and it jarred along Daniel's nerves, so much so that he inadvertently made a fist and dug his nails into the palm of his hand, otherwise he may have slapped the laughter from her face.

“Why do you stare at me so?” she said playfully. “I assure you your remedy was most beneficial."

As she prattled on, talking nonsense as far as Sir Daniel was concerned, he was struggling to find a way to get the paper back from her and suddenly he remembered the terrible story that she had betrayed St. Cyr, a story that had been dismissed in England as much for the sake of Sir Jonathon as for her own. Not for the first time Daniel wondered just how much truth there was in that tale.

Recognising the gleam in his eye, Marguerite suspected she needed to distract the young man and said, "You seem upset, Sir Daniel. I wonder now if it was for my benefit after all that you burned that paper. Was it perhaps a love note you sought to destroy? Could it be that you are toying with one lady while teasing my poor Suzanne?"

Seeing his chance, Daniel replied, "Either way, the note is assuredly mine…" and at the same time he attempted to lunge for the paper, not concerned that his action was hardly that of a gentleman. 

Unfortunately Marguerite was quicker and sensing his impending move, she took a step backward, taking her out of his reach and ensuring that she knocked against the table sending the lit candelabrum falling. 

She gave a cry of alarm, “The candles, Sir Daniel …quick!”

With a curse under his breath Daniel grabbed for the arrangement of candles and picked up two still burning from the carpet. The paper shade had also ignited and he quickly put that out and returned the whole to the table. 

It had only taken him a few seconds but in that time Marguerite swiftly perused the few lines scribbled on the paper …and the red star shaped flower in the corner.

When he turned to her again he saw only alarm at her accident and he saw with relief that his note had apparently fluttered to the floor in the confusion and he retrieved it closing his fingers tightly over it.

Gathering himself, he took a breath and said calmly, "If you will excuse me, my lady?"

“By all means, Sir Daniel," she said smiling.

Sir Daniel had already hastily twisted the paper and he once again held into the flame of a candle and he watched content as the fateful note burned to ash. He may not have felt so at ease had he seen the odd smile on her face.

When he turned she smiled softly and said, "Allow me to make amends, dance with me?"

Daniel looked at her a moment, unsure of her motives but knowing it would seem churlish to refuse he nodded. He only needed to take her on a circuit and he was sure someone else would wish to sweep her away from him.

~~~~

As soon as he felt it wouldn't draw undue attention Jack rose from the card table and stepped outside. He moved to the balustrade overlooking the ballroom below.

His relief at learning Daniel had arrived had been total. Lord Hastings was on the lookout for both Lord Anthony and Sir Daniel with instructions to give the note to Daniel or Anthony if Daniel didn't materialise. Jack had the most uncomfortable feeling that something was wrong and the idea that Daniel might not show was gnawing at him. He hoped that at least Anthony would have some information for him.

He had been playing piquet for nearly thirty minutes -- and losing badly much to the delight of the Prince Regent -- when finally Lord Robert Hastings sauntered into the card room. He halted on the threshold however and leaned nonchalantly against the door frame, tapping his teeth absently. Jack's heart beat faster in his chest; Robert was giving him a sign that everything had gone according to plan which meant that Daniel was here. 

If the note had been given to Lord Anthony the signal given by Hastings would have been a little different; he would have walked into the room and leaned back against one of the walls, indicating that matters were satisfactory if not exactly precisely as planned. They had developed quite a few signals and signs all based on carriage and position.

The only position Jack was interested in now was the one Daniel was in presently. He scanned the huge room below him, having an excellent view from above. He looked among the groups of people lining the walls talking and when he couldn't see the young man he wondered if perhaps he was in one of the few small rooms leading off the ballroom. Even as the thought passed through his mind, his eye caught the sight of his lovely wife twirling in the arms of…Daniel.

His breath caught in his throat. Daniel looked absolutely wonderful in a suit of deep blue and as he danced Marguerite around and around, Jack knew that many eyes would be on his wife and that many would envy the luck of Sir Jonathon O'Neill. He wondered what they would think if they knew that he would much rather have that handsome young man in his life and…in his bed any day.

As he watched he saw the brilliant smile of Marguerite as she moved gracefully across the dance floor in the very capable arms of Sir Daniel and he couldn't help the jealousy that shot through him that she could touch him, hold him and gaze into his eyes as she smiled at him when he could do none of those things. To make matters worse Jack still had the niggling fear that Daniel's 'unrequited hopeless love' was for his wife and he knew the only person Marguerite had ever truly loved was Marguerite. With an internal shrug he amended that to include Armand; she did seem to care deeply for her brother.

Wondering if there was any way he could discover the truth of who Daniel pined for he almost missed the moment when a young gallant tapped Daniel on the shoulder and took over as Marguerite's dancing partner. 

Daniel swiftly left the dance floor only to be accosted by the Viscount de Tournay. Jack watched as he bowed slightly to the young man before following him to bow again to the Countess and kiss the hand of her daughter, Suzanne. With a pang Jack thought that if Daniel had to be interested in anyone he would rather it was a sweet gentle child such as Suzanne de Tournay. Sadly he accepted that he could never have Daniel and he would at least like his friend to be happy even though he knew now he would never be. He had thought perhaps of taking a wife, a beautiful woman to share his life, it would stop the loneliness he felt even when he was with his friend but it hadn't worked. It only made him realise what he was missing, what he really wanted but that was the one thing he could never have.

Daniel had never been more frustrated in his life. All he wanted to do was see Jack. He was well aware he couldn't say anything in particular to him until they could meet at the time stated in his note but just to see him would calm his nerves. He was sure he could find some way to at least warn him of the possible danger. His mind seemed confused at the moment and he couldn't remember which position to employ to signal imminent danger. Damn, he needed to think, not listen to the inane chatter of this child!

With a sigh, he acknowledged he was being unfair. Suzanne de Tournay was a bright young woman and quite a catch if he considered himself available in the marriage market which he did not. He was so in love with Jack O'Neill that the idea of being intimate with anyone else, most especially a woman left him cold. Though if he were honest with himself taking a wife was probably exactly what he should do. His family would expect it damn, society would expect it. 

Perhaps he should be sensible and pay attention to the young lady. She was sweet and amenable and would probably make him a most suitable bride. He even thought about the fact that she considered herself a friend of Lady O'Neill, yet another way to stay close to Jack…that train of thought was not exactly conducive to a sensible settled future which would be the whole point of getting married. Besides which, the Countess de Tournay would never allow her daughter, her very obedient daughter, to pursue a friendship with a woman she considered to be a traitor. 

Oh god, what I am thinking, the whole situation is ludicrous!

He looked at his watch and saw it was almost fifteen minutes to midnight and he needed to be in the library at that time to meet with Jack, he had to get away from the de Tournays; not an easy task when the formidable Countess seemed to have decided he was a fitting suitor for her Suzanne. If you don't want to find yourself betrothed...

Sir Jonathon was also checking his pocket watch at the same moment and wanted to be in place in plenty of time. He still had an uncomfortable feeling that things were spinning out of control; he didn't know why but he had learned long ago to trust his instincts. Just then he saw Lord Anthony climbing the stairs; if he couldn't get to Daniel maybe he could get some information from Anthony. As the young man climbed the stairs Jack noticed a certain something about him, a tension in his shoulders maybe, a tightness in his mouth; he didn't know what exactly but he knew something was wrong.

Anthony turned at the top of the stairs and moved in his direction as if heading for the card room. As he passed he glanced at Sir Jonathon and nodded as if in polite greeting; the sideways glance of the eyes confirmed to Jonathon that something had happened. 

Jonathon moved languidly down the staircase and there at the bottom, lolling negligently at the bottom was Lord Hastings. Jonathon purposely moved closer to him, making it appear he had to do so to avoid a couple climbing up the stairs and as he brushed by the younger man, Lord Robert slipped a scrap of paper in his pocket.

Sir Jonathon calmly crossed the ballroom, laughing and joking with friends, repeating his little doggerel to a couple who hadn't heard it earlier, acting the role of the witty fool. He saw Daniel talking to Lady Portarles now who was sitting with the Countess and her family and as he passed he caught his young friend's attention and the joy he saw flash through Daniel's eyes for all of a second was enough to calm his jangled nerves.

Daniel watched as Jack walked on, relieved that he had seen him for it didn't look as if he was going to be able to escape from Lady Portarles any time soon. She seemed intent on talking to him about the advantages and promises of marriage. As he passed by Daniel saw Jack casually pat his pocket and he knew that Anthony had managed to get their message passed onto him. At least he would know there was a spy at the ball.

~~~~

Jack entered the still dark library, not much use for books at a ball but it was the perfect place to escape for peace and quiet. He lit a candle near the doorway and then one near the stacks by the back wall where he couldn't be seen from the door. He quickly took out the message and read it, fury sliding through him to learn that Anthony and Daniel had been prisoners for four days and only released that very day to act as a lure.

He knew enough to read between the few short lines and had no trouble imaging the fear and uncertainty they would have experienced. He also wondered if they had been subjected to any kind of violence.

He quickly burned the message and then blew out the candle leaving just the one by the door. Then he lay down on one of the sofas, putting his feet up on one arm and his head on the other, closed and his eyes and slowed his breathing. He waited.

~~~~~

Marguerite had finally managed to chase everyone away and sat quietly in one corner. Chauvelin would know she had some information to impart. She knew he had been watching her, waiting for an indication from her and sure enough here he was.

"Well?" he asked coldly. "What have you discovered?"

"I'm not sure how …important it is," she faltered, suddenly afraid that it wouldn't be enough. "It might be a clue at least. I stopped Sir Daniel Jackson burning a piece of paper, a message. Part of it was destroyed but…"

"You saw something of the message?" he pressed.

She nodded, "In one corner there was a small red flower and above it I read two broken lines, the rest was scorched, unreadable or burned away."

"What were the two lines?" he asked impatiently.

Her throat went dry and she swallowed. 

"Luckily the whole paper was not burned," Chauvelin said harshly, "the cost to your brother might have been high. What were the lines?" he repeated.

"The first was, I start myself tomorrow," she replied quietly. "The second, If you wish to speak to me I shall be in the library at midnight."

Glancing at the clock which showed ten minutes to midnight, Chauvelin said calmly, "I have plenty of time."

"What are you going to do?" she asked her voice harsh.

"Ah, that will depend."

"On what?"

"On whom I see in the library."

"There may be more than one person there, you will not know which man is the Scarlet Pimpernel," she said, almost desperately. "And then perhaps Sir Daniel will have warned him."

"No, I have watched the young gentleman, he was been …detained. I suggested to Lady Portarles that perhaps her experience could help persuade Sir Daniel that a good match with Suzanne de Tournay would be to his advantage. He was still surrounded when I came to speak to you," he smiled.

"But there are others from the League here, you know this."

He smiled. "Whoever is in the library at midnight will be watched by one of my men. One, maybe even two or three may leave for France tomorrow. One of them must be the Scarlet Pimpernel."

"Yes …so?"

"So, I too will leave for France tomorrow. The papers I found on Sir Daniel Jackson in Dover mention an inn near Calais and a rather lonely part of the coast where a certain hut is to be found belonging to a Pére Blanchard which I must find. This is all part of the plan to steal away the traitor de Tournay. It seems he will not send others this time, if he is to 'start himself tomorrow'. For many months now I have tracked this man and now I shall follow the persons in the library this evening and I shall finally have my hands on the Scarlet Pimpernel -- and he'll be in France where I can lead him to the punishment he deserves.”

“And Armand?” she whispered.

“I promised you that the day the Scarlet Pimpernel and I start for France, I would send you his letter. I now pledge you that the day I lay hands on that meddlesome Englishman, St. Just shall be sent here to England, safe into the arms of his loving sister.”

Glancing once more at the clock he swiftly rose, gave her a small bow, turned and strode towards the library.

~~~~

When Chauvelin reached the library it was to find it deserted and dark, just one small candle was alight inside the entrance. Carefully the Frenchman stepped through not trusting that the room was necessarily as deserted as it appeared so he moved quietly over the soft carpet. He recognised the smell of a snuffed candle and glanced around carefully. It was then he discovered the recumbent figure of Sir Jonathon O'Neill stretched out on a sofa towards the rear of the room and Chauvelin was confident it was the candle set nearby to some of the rear bookshelves that had fairly recently been snuffed out. 

He stood silently looking down on the sleeping man. Chauvelin studied him, watched as his chest slowly rose and fell steadily, as his eyes moved slowly but constantly behind his lids as he dreamed. Sir Jonathon made a very soft sound and Chauvelin smiled that even in his sleep the man couldn't be silent. The Frenchman shook his head that he'd ever, even for an instant, considered that this could be the Scarlet Pimpernel. 

Cocking his head on one side he considered the form before him which he had to admit was an attractive one. Chauvelin had always been rather cosmopolitan in his tastes, not least his sexual inclinations. He had sampled the intimate companionship of both sexes and though his first choice was for a woman he could fully appreciate the attractions of a male body and the one he was currently admiring had much in its favour. He particularly liked his long legs and slim hips and he noted that the cut of the jacket did nothing to hide the broad shoulders. 

Chiding himself for being distracted by his baser urges, Chauvelin returned his attention to his duty. As he quietly looked around the still, quiet room, Chauvelin couldn't help but contemplate what the Pimpernel would be like, the mysterious personage who somehow managed to hold a whole country to ransom. The Frenchman and the leaders of his righteous revolution had sworn to bring the man to his death; this man who could command seemingly blind obedience from nineteen English gentlemen to carry out his most audacious plans. Glancing round Chauvelin experienced the same sudden superstition that was provoked in the ordinary people of France when the famous epithet was spoken; almost expecting this miraculous personage to appear out of the woodwork.

Annoyed at his naivety he reminded himself of the careful plans he had made and he was also quite sure that Marguerite O'Neill wouldn't dare play him false; she cared too much for her worthless brother.

The fact that the room was, to all intents and purposes as far as he was concerned, empty was to his advantage and with a sly smile he decided to emulate the slumbering fool. Chauvelin stretched himself out on another sofa a short distance from O'Neill, in a position where he could keep a close watch on the open doorway and also on the sleeping form of Sir Jonathon. He arranged himself comfortably, closed his eyes, allowed his mouth to drop slightly open, slowed his breathing and waited.

~~~~

Daniel was past frustrated now, he was annoyed about being thwarted at every turn. He knew it was gone midnight, it must be almost ten minutes past by now and he had finally managed to escape from Lady Portarles only to be stopped by the Prince Regent. 

His only consolation, if that’s what it was, was that both Lord Robert and Lord Anthony had wandered by the library door and neither man had entered. The only reason that would occur was if someone other than the Pimpernel was also there.

Daniel had to drag his attention back to what the Prince was saying to him. 

"… so you see I think Lady O'Neill made an excellent suggestion, Sir Daniel. Come now, what do you say? Will you hold an Autumn Ball for us?"

"Autumn Ball, your highness?" he asked, not having a clue what the conversation was about.

"Tut, tut, Sir Daniel! Lady O'Neill did say you were quite taken with the young de Tournay girl but pray pay attention."

"I …I apologise, your highness. Please if you would be so kind…"

The Prince laughed, "I forgive you my boy, she is a pretty young thing. Now, my lady Marguerite was kind enough to remind me what an absolutely delightful Spring Ball you held to set the Season off to a fine start. She suggested I asked you to put on an Autumn Ball to round off the season and I agreed it was a wonderful idea."

Lady O'Neill? Daniel's quick mind went into orbit. First he'd been sidetracked by the Viscount and kept dallying around the de Tournays, then when he was about to slip away Lady Portarles had cornered him and now the Prince with a suggestion from Marguerite. Too many coincidences? Or was he seeing conspiracies where there were none?

"Oh yes, your highness. I mean, what a surprise, I simply hadn't thought of such a thing. Of course, if it is your command…?"

"Command? No, no, of course not …but if you would consider it I would be happy to attend."

"Of course, your highness, I would be honoured." He'd agreed quickly hoping the conversation would end gracefully. Instead the Prince began to recount some of his favourite memories from the balls he'd attended in the past and seeing as he'd been to hundreds it could prove to be a very long conversation. Daniel's smile became very fixed.

Time seemed to slow down to a crawl as he tried to concentrate on what the Prince was saying when all he really wanted to do was get to the library. He saw both Robert and Anthony take turns perambulating past the entrance, each with a young lady on his arm as a diversion. Looking at the wall clock behind the Prince's head, Daniel saw it was now twenty minutes past midnight; whoever was in the library was enough to stop them seeing the Pimpernel and Daniel wondered who it could be that was such a threat. He also wondered if Jack was safe for he knew without a doubt that his friend would be in the library and waiting for him.

~~~~

Marguerite paced up and down in that same small boudoir where she had read the note that Sir Daniel Jackson had tried to burn. She was terribly nervous wondering what was happening in the library. She wanted Chauvelin to tell her of the result, to tell her Armand was safe yet… she was torn in two, needing to obtain the release of her dear brother but it would be at the cost of a brave man. She could admit that, it was the truth. The presence of her old friend Suzanne at this very ball was proof of that and with that thought came the realisation that once the Pimpernel was captured, with him would go the only chance of rescue for Suzanne's father. She lifted her chin, it is a choice between the Count and Armand and I choose Armand.

"Ah, my lady I have found you at last," Lord Fancourt said, breaking into her thoughts.

For a moment she was puzzled by the man's appearance and then she remembered she had asked him a short while ago to find her husband for her and give him a message to say she would be ready to leave. She had sent him on his errand just after Chauvelin had left her when all she wanted to do was get well away from the drama that would unfold in that library.

"My lord, did you find Sir Jonathon?"

"Indeed, though I must say it took a while. I certainly didn't expect to have to go searching for him in the library."

"The library?" she asked softly.

"Yes, in the library of all places and fast asleep. The man wouldn't wake up, downed too much drink I expect."

In the library? Could this explain the reason Chauvelin had not told her what had occurred?

“Lord Fancourt, did you perceive who was in the library just now besides Sir Jonathon?”

“Just that French Government fellow, Chauvelin, equally fast asleep in another corner,” he said. “Why does your ladyship ask?”

“Did you notice the time when you were there?”

“Probably about ten minutes past midnight, maybe fifteen," he replied with a frown, puzzled by her ladyship's demeanour.

Had Chauvelin failed then? Could it be that the Scarlet Pimpernel had been warned by Sir Daniel after all? But then, what of Armand? If the Pimpernel had proved elusive yet again, what chance would Armand have? She had no reason to expect any mercy from Chauvelin for her brother.

“Shall I find out if your ladyship’s coach is ready,” Lord Fancourt, ever the gentleman, asked.

“Er, yes please, if you would be so kind…”

As soon as he was gone she hurried along to the library, slowing her movement as she approached the door. Inside it was dim, one fluttering candle the only light. She could see Chauvelin sitting on one of the sofas; the other contained the prostrate figure of her husband. As she approached Chauvelin got to his feet and stepped towards the door watching her.

She did not believe Jonathon was asleep from too much drink; he was always very fastidious about that though he did seem to have the ability to fall asleep easily when he was bored and as Lord Fancourt discovered, he slept like a log. She walked quietly over to him and looked down at her handsome husband and again wished she'd been able to go to him for help. With an internal sigh, she turned back to Chauvelin instead and stood very close to him.

"I must know what happened," she whispered.

"Happened, dear lady?" he replied in the same tone. "Where?"

In a furious whisper, she said, "Don't torture me."

"Nothing happened; at the appointed hour I was," he smiled, "asleep on one sofa, Sir Jonathon on another."

"Nobody came here at all?"

“Not a soul.”

“Then …we failed?" her voice was so low he struggled to hear her.

“Yes, we failed …perhaps …”

“But Armand?” she asked, her voice a plea.

“Ah! I would suggest St. Just’s chances are hanging by a thread. Pray, my dear that the thread doesn't break."

“Chauvelin, I tried …sincerely… please…”

“I remember my promise,” he said quietly. “The day that the Scarlet Pimpernel and I meet on French soil, St. Just will be returned to his charming sister.”

"So I am to have a brave man's blood on my hands," she gasped.

“His blood or that of your brother, you knew that. You must hope that that the Pimpernel will start for Calais today.”

Suddenly Sir Jonathon stirred a little, gave a faint snort and knowing that her husband would awaken soon, she swiftly pleaded, “Give me some hope."

He leaned in to take her hand to kiss it and whispered, “Pray heaven that the thread may not break.” He turned and strolled out of the room.

Unable to face her husband's inane talk upon waking she turned and left the room a moment later.

~~~~~

As Marguerite left the library she was too distracted to notice Sir Daniel Jackson in the shadows by the door where he'd secreted himself just after seeing her enter a few minutes earlier. He'd finally gotten away from the Prince and decided to go into the library. He couldn't bear to wait a moment longer; for all he knew Jack was in trouble.

He'd been approaching the library from another direction when he saw Lady O'Neill striding with determination towards the room. Her very demeanour sounded warning bells and he kept out of sight and slipped in behind the door after was thrown open. He was able to see into the room through the crack between the door and the doorframe and yet not be seen. 

When Daniel saw the man who rose from the sofa he had both a terrible shock and the answer to his question. It was the man who had kept Anthony and himself prisoner, the man who wanted to know who the Pimpernel was; the man who had allowed them to escape to implicate Jack; the man who was now standing no more than ten feet from where Jack lay seemingly asleep.

But that discovery was as nothing to the horror he felt on overhearing the conversation between the man he now learned was called Chauvelin and Lady Marguerite O'Neill -- and he imagined how Jack must feel having heard all that. Daniel had no doubt that Jack was wide awake and hearing every word. Daniel stood stunned as the Frenchman left the library and then watched as Lady O'Neill left after him. 

He watched from the shadows as she walked slowly away and though he felt enraged at her unknowing betrayal of her husband, he recognised that his anger was really aimed at Chauvelin; he couldn't help an inkling of pity for the situation the vile man had put the unfortunate woman in. 

He knew and liked Armand and could well understand the desperation of a sister who loved her brother. However, his first concern had to be Jack.

When he was sure Chauvelin was long gone he moved out of his hiding place and slipped into the library, closing the door behind him.

"Jack?" he said softly.

Immediately Jack's eyes opened and sitting up he got to his feet. "Daniel," he said and the pleasure in his voice sent shivers up Daniel's spine.

"You heard?" he asked gently.

Jack's head shot up, "YOU did?"

"Yes, I was outside hiding by the door; I heard …most of it. I'm sorry."

"Yes, so am I."

"Perhaps if she knew the truth…" Daniel posited.

Jack smiled, "She would still choose her brother. He is the only other person she has ever really loved."

"Other person?" Daniel frowned.

"Besides herself," Jack answered quietly. "I think I saw too much in her obvious intelligence and never considered that her head totally ruled her heart. I never realised when I met her how shallow she could be; how very self-centred she is."

Daniel stared at Jack, hurt at the acceptance he saw in his friend's eyes. "For god's sake why did you marry her? She's not worthy of you. You deserve so much more than she could ever give you, you deserve someone who would really love you. I could …" he said before he could stop the words passing his lips. 

Jack eyebrows climbed to his hairline as he stared at his friend, watching as Daniel's eyes widened and the blood drained from his face as the young man realised what he'd said. 

"I …I…" Daniel tried to speak but the passion that had prompted his little tirade had faded into shocked embarrassment and he dropped his eyes, unable to meet Jack's gaze any longer.

Softly Jack answered Daniel's question. "It seems so ill conceived now but at the time I could find no other option. I had fallen in love with someone I …couldn't have. I thought if I went away I could find someone to share my life, someone to fill the void. Marguerite seemed perfect, an intelligent beautiful woman I liked and thought I could learn to care for. She seemed to care for me too, what more could I ask for?" 

Daniel still hadn't looked up so Jack reached out slowly and placed a finger under his chin and lifted his face. Gazing directly into his eyes, Jack continued. "I could have asked for the love that I now realise was there waiting all the time but I was too …blind to see it for what it truly was. I was afraid, so sure my feelings were… I never even considered you could possibly feel the same."

Daniel's mouth dropped open in shocked surprise, his heart was pounding and he could hear his blood rushing through his ears. "The …same?" he stuttered.

"You were the someone I couldn't have," Jack said, watching as Daniel mouthed the word 'me' in surprise. "I had to get away or I knew I couldn't keep my secret any longer. I thought I could bury my feelings, try and …," Jack sighed and now he dropped his eyes, "try and live a normal life. Take a wife."

Daniel laughed harshly and Jack flinched. "Oh, I understand exactly what you mean. I stood out there this very evening wondering if I ought to allow Suzanne to catch me, she has been trying so hard. Then I realised how selfish, how cruel that would be. Here I was pining for another …"

"Pining?" Jack interrupted with a grin.

Daniel shrugged and grinned back at Jack, "Alright, lusting." The grin faded to a gentle , vaguely sad smile, "I was …in love with someone I couldn't have and it was …torture, yet here I was contemplating putting someone else, someone I liked, into that same position. I just knew I couldn't do it."

Jack nodded, "I know, I have been ashamed of myself. I was actually lying here wondering if it's my fault that Marguerite is so… I wonder if I made her unhappy, caused her to behave…"

Daniel snorted rudely and interrupted, "I think not." He hesitated a moment then clearly came to a decision. "Are you aware that she tried to seduce me? And I guess maybe others too."

"Yes, I knew," Jack answered harshly and Daniel raised an eyebrow, not really expecting that he would know about that. "I just prayed she wouldn't snag you into her net too," Jack continued.

"Too late, I was already caught in yours," Daniel replied, hesitantly reaching out to touch Jack's face for the first time and as his fingers brushed the older man’s cheek, Jack shivered and quickly reached up to hold Daniel's hand against his face. "Oh, god!" Daniel said, hardly believing that he was touching Jack in such a personal and intimate way. 

To Jack, feeling Daniel's skin against his was a dream come true and he turned into the hand he held against his cheek and kissed the young man's palm. Daniel gasped and stared at the lips caressing his hand and suddenly more than anything he wanted to taste those lips…that tongue.

Sensing Daniel's intent, Jack pulled back and stared at him and with mutual silent consent their lips met in a searing kiss. Drifting through Jack's scattered thoughts was the realisation that this first kiss was so like his favourite fantasy...

They broke apart, gasping for breath and staring at each other. 

"Oh, Jack, I …" Daniel was silenced when Jack placed one finger gently across his lips.

"Not here," Jack said softly, quickly removing his finger from temptation.

"Where then? We have to talk," Daniel sounded desperate.

"I know but first I have to take Marguerite home and then…" Jack hesitated, deep in thought. 

"Jack?"

"May I come to your place later?" 

His heart pounding, Daniel nodded. "I'll be waiting for you," he said breathlessly.

With a last lingering glance, Jack turned and quickly left the library and strode across the ballroom heading for the vestibule where he expected to find an impatient Marguerite waiting for him. He was relieved when he saw his wife talking to Lord Grenville, giving no sign of the distress he knew she must be feeling. The only solution to her problem was to get Armand out of France and besides the fact that the pleasant young man was Jonathon's brother-in-law, he also happened to be a new member of the League and the ultimate responsibility for his safety belonged to the Scarlet Pimpernel.

"My dear," he said in a languid drawl, "I am sorry you have been kept waiting. Thank you, my Lord," he said to Grenville, "for entertaining my Lady while I enjoyed the comfort of your excellent library."

Lord Grenville smiled, knowing very well that Sir Jonathon had been asleep, "Always a pleasure, Sir Jonathon."

They made a little more polite small talk before bidding one another goodnight and leaving to find Sir Jonathon's magnificent bays impatiently pawing the ground as they waited under the massive portico. Within a few minutes Lady Marguerite was seated next to Sir Jonathon as he drove the four splendid horses down the quiet street.

The night was warm and Marguerite always enjoyed the quiet drive home following an evening out. It was an eccentricity of Sir Jonathon's to drive his own horses and he did so expertly with his strong, unerring hands and on such quiet nights he let his horses have their heads. Tonight he seemed to have the very devil in his fingers as the coach seemed to fly along the road beside the river. As ever, he didn't speak to her but stared straight ahead concentrating on the road. 

Marguerite glanced at him and was surprised to find that his face in the moonlight looked singularly earnest. She wondered what thoughts were running through his head and she had to quash an insane desire to laugh bitterly at his reaction if he knew the thoughts rolling around her head. Her husband already despised her for her involvement in the sad affair of the St. Cyr family, how much less would he think of her if he knew of this night's work.

Lost in her thoughts, Marguerite found the drive home this breezy night all too brief and it was with a feeling of regret that she realised that the bays had turned into the drive between the massive gates of her beautiful English home.

Sir Jonathon O'Neill’s house on the river at Richmond was palatial in its dimensions, standing in the midst of exquisitely laid-out gardens, with a picturesque terrace and frontage to the river that was so peaceful in the moonlight. With such accurate precision he brought the coach to a standstill immediately in front of the fine Elizabethan entrance hall where, in spite of the lateness of the hour, half a dozen grooms emerged from nowhere.

Sir Jonathon jumped down quickly, hurrying round to help Marguerite alight. She lingered outside for a moment while he gave a few orders to one of his men. Feeling too nervous to retire she skirted the house and looked out onto the landscape made silver by the bright moon. It was quiet around her and she could just hear the horses as they were led away. 

She turned to look back at the house and her attention was caught by the few lights still showing and she felt a sudden chill. There was a light downstairs and upstairs there were two brightly lit rooms, one at each end of the house; one was her suite of rooms and the other was Jonathon's -- as far apart as their lives seemed to have become. 

Straightening her back and lifting her chin, she turned and entered the house.

Sir Jonathon was in the shadows at the side of his house when he saw Marguerite finally enter. He'd seen the dejected set of her shoulders and guessed all too easily where her thoughts were. He wished he could tell her not to worry about Armand but he could not do so without having far too much to explain. 

Instead he turned away and went to the stable to mount the horse one of the grooms was saddling for him. He had little enough time to spare as it was to see Daniel before he had to leave to catch the morning tide in the Day Dream and he had an overwhelming desire to take one more wonderful memory with him.

~~~~~

Daniel was pacing his hallway waiting for Jack to arrive. He had sent all his servants off to bed wanting to let Jack into his house himself so they could talk in total privacy. 

He still found it hard to conceive that Jack had feelings for him. He'd never even dared to imagine that Jack O'Neill could feel anything other than simple friendship for him. However, there was no mistaking that look in his eye, the shiver that had run through his body when Daniel had gently touched his cheek. Nor that soft, almost silent moan Daniel had felt as much as heard when their lips touched. Even that memory evoked sensations in him and he felt a distinct interest in his groin. He smiled at the idea that his long held fantasy could one day come true.

Just then he heard a soft knock on the front door and he swiftly opened it and before he had time to react, Jack O'Neill was inside pushing his door closed. The older man turned around and leaned back against the door staring boldly at Daniel.

"Jack," Daniel said softly.

"Damn, I wish we had more time," Jack said pushing away from the door and to Daniel's dismay he stalked away from him.

"What? What is it?"

"Armand. I was planning on going to France myself as you know to rescue de Tournay, now I just have to add Armand to the list."

"It could be a trap. I'm not convinced that Chauvelin doesn't already know that you are the Pimpernel."

Jack was fairly sure that Chauvelin had worked out that he was the Pimpernel but he wasn't going to admit that certainty to Daniel. 

Jack smiled, "Even if I didn't agree with you and unfortunately I do -- that man enjoys playing games too much, he toyed with Marguerite tonight -- I don't really have a choice. Armand will probably be arrested tomorrow, the next day at the latest. I have to get him out. It is possible Chauvelin might be on the lookout for me since I was the only person he saw in the library but at least I am forewarned of the possibility. I'm taking the Day Dream out on the morning tide."

"I'm coming with you," Daniel said firmly.

"No, you're not," Jack corrected him gently.

Daniel was halfway to the stairs when he stopped and turned back. "Jack, please. I can't let you go alone. There's too much…"

"Daniel, no! I'd already decided I was going alone, you know that. My note was very clear."

"But that was before. Jack, you need me with you. God, I need to be with you. Surely you understand that after what…"

Jack interrupted him again. "I do understand Daniel but that is part of the problem. You are thinking with your heart and I love you for that," he smiled gently, "But I have to think with my head. I had already set the plan in motion to rescue de Tournay and Armand was already a part of that. I'm going to stick to the plan; it's too late to change it now anyway. The only difference is that when we leave Armand will come back with us instead of staying to provide us with information."

His head spinning because for the first time Jack had said he loved him, Daniel declared, "Jack, please you can't do this. I have to come, I have to."

"You swore an oath to obey me, Daniel, will you keep it?" Jack asked softly yet sternly.

Daniel dropped his head, "If you ask me," he replied reluctantly, his voice hardly above a whisper.

"I am asking you," Jack replied. "I am asking that you do as I wish, I'm asking that you keep an eye on Marguerite. I expect that Chauvelin will go to France but I'm not sure how she will react, especially when she realises that I have left London. I have left her a message with Frank that I am travelling to my estate in the north."

"Are you suggesting that she might put two and two together and make four?" Daniel queried.

Jack laughed. "I think not, I have played my role as a fool too well as far as she is concerned. No, I meant that whether she despises me or not, she does behave when I am around but she can be very wilful and she does love Armand very much."

"You're not suggesting she may go to France herself?" Daniel asked incredulously.

"I'm not suggesting anything of the kind, just please watch her for me?"

"It seems …strange, you asking me to watch out for your wife when I…when we…"

"I trust you, no one more," Jack said softly, reaching a hand towards Daniel then letting it slowly drop, promising himself that the moment he got home…

Daniel was very touched by the sentiment then he noticed Jack's aborted move, realising that the other man was just as tense and nervous as he was, just as desperate to make that connection. Unfortunately Jack O'Neill was also determined to put his responsibility before his own desires, which was annoying and extremely frustrating but also one of the reasons Daniel had fallen in love with the man.

The problem was that Jack's responsibilities seemed to multiply. As if he hadn't already had enough on his plate planning and executing the rescue of de Tournay which in itself was a very difficult manoeuvre, Jack now had to contend with rescuing Armand too while avoiding Chauvelin and god knows how many of his accomplices, knowing all the time that it was his own wife who had betrayed him.

"Jack?" Daniel said thoughtfully, "Would it not perhaps be better to simply tell her"

"No," Jack said firmly. "I've thought about it but I see no point. If I succeed she need never know; I have been considering how much longer the Scarlet Pimpernel can continue anyway if the government of France mobilises its entire forces against me. If Chauvelin believes… Then again, if I fail, the loss of a husband she barely cares for will hardly matter beside the loss of her brother."

Daniel's face paled, "Jack!" He couldn't bear the idea of losing this man, not when they'd finally found each other. Nor did he think such an attitude was conducive to a successful mission. If Jack had a chance of success against such odds he had to have faith, confidence.

As if he could read his friend's mind, Jack said, "Rest assured, I have no intention of failing. I have far too much to live for," he added gruffly.

"Remember then that I am waiting and if you don't want me stalking you in hell, you'll damn well better come back to me."

Jack laughed, "That's quite a visual, have a few dreams about that I think." He shook his head to clear that image as Daniel grinned at him. "But, to get back to the subject at hand; I think I will tell Armand, he has a right to know how far his sister was prepared to go to save his life and I will let him decide if he wishes her to know the truth."

Daniel nodded somewhat absently at this comment.

"What?" Jack asked after a moment of silence.

"Two things: did you mean it about the days of the Scarlet Pimpernel being numbered and did you mean it about having dreams about me?"

"Now, I'm running out of time, so I can only answer one question, which one shall it be?" Jack teased.

"I want to know about the dreams but I think we need time and to be ...comfortable for that one," Daniel said hoarsely.

"Oh, very true. Comfortably horizontal would be ideal I think. The other answer depends on what happens in the next couple of days."

Erotic images flitted through Daniel's mind at the idea of being horizontal with Jack. "Are you...sure I can't come with you?" Daniel murmured, moving closer.

"Daaaaniel..."

"Sorry," he shrugged, clearly not. "Kiss me goodbye?" he asked hopefully.

"Thought you'd never ask," Jack grinned. As he leaned in, he whispered, "When I come back I will tell you about my favourite fantasy."

~~~~

Daniel stood in his empty entrance hall feeling both cold and hot at the same time. His body felt cold from the absence of his soon-to-be lover who had just left on his way to catch the tide in the Day Dream and in a few hours he would be risking his life to save others. At the same time, Daniel's blood was hot from the passionate kiss they’d shared just before he left. His lips still tingled and he remembered how, even through two layers of clothing, the skin on his upper arms had burned from the pressure of Jack's fingers, and all he could think now was what it would be like when finally they touched skin on skin.. 

With a soft smile, Daniel recalled Jack's promise to tell him his favourite fantasy on his return. He found the very idea that Jack fantasised about him exciting and he decided he would tell Jack of his fantasy too. He turned and walked slowly upstairs, not to go to bed and sleep for he knew that was impossible. He knew he had to do something physical to take his mind from his body's demands. As he began to change into his riding clothes he let his mind wander back to the day his fantasy began.

It was only a couple of weeks after he had acknowledged that he was in love with his friend. They had often gone out riding together in the early morning and Jack's marriage to Marguerite hadn't changed that. After an hour's riding they were returning to Jack's place and as it was a very warm day they had removed their jackets and were just in shirt sleeves. Jack laughingly challenged Daniel to race the last mile back to the stables and Jack won by a head. Stable lads ran to take each horse's head and grooms came to see to the animals.

Daniel had sat astride his horse laughing down at Jack and calling him a cheat because he hadn't waited until they were neck and neck before starting to race. With a grin, Jack just waved a dismissive hand at him and walked across the stable yard not knowing that in his wake Daniel didn't answer because his mouth was so dry. Jack's shirt was soaked in perspiration and as it clung to the lines of his body Daniel could see each muscle as he moved and he longed for it to be his hands touching that body rather than the fine lawn shirt. Suddenly Jack turned to see where Daniel was and the younger man absently licked his lips to see Jack's nipples straining against the thin material across his chest. 

Then Jack told him to stop sulking and come and get some breakfast and the spell was broken but it was the stuff of fantasies for Daniel for many months. For in Daniel's imagination when they arrived in the yard there was no one else there. They dismounted and led the animals into the stables and each took their horse into a stall where they began to remove the saddles and tack. Daniel reached for the brush and with long strokes he began to work it over the animal's back. 

As he moved it along he wished it was Jack's back he was touching, that the long strokes were down his smoothly muscled body and along …he froze when he suddenly felt hands on his shoulders. They stroked down his arms, brushed the backs of his hands and then returned to caress his shoulders. Without turning he knew who it was.

"Jack?" he said softly.

"Hush," was the only reply as the hands moved to his shoulder blades and then around to his chest and when they rubbed his nipples, he sighed and dropped his head back onto Jack's shoulder. 

Suddenly the hands stopped their movements and fingers began to slowly unfasten the shirt buttons, slipping them free and at the first touch of Jack's fingers on his flesh Daniel shivered. Jack leaned in and kissed his neck and turning his head Daniel captured Jack's lips in a searing kiss. Not breaking the kiss, Daniel turned in Jack's embrace and wrapped his arms tightly around his lover; he was lost as sensations he'd never experienced before flooded through him.

Before he knew what had happened he was lying on some dry straw and Jack was moving over him. They were both completely naked now and Jack was kissing him with such abandon; lips, eyes, neck, chest, navel until he moved lower to lick and kiss his penis. Daniel's body was on fire and he couldn't control his limbs. He wanted to hold Jack but he couldn't make his body obey. All he could do was lie there and feel and when Jack took his penis into his mouth Daniel cried out in ecstasy. 

Like a page turning he was suddenly the one lying over Jack and the older man was moaning his name over and over as Daniel rocked against him, his weight held off Jack's upper body by his strong arms placed either side of Jack's shoulder's. Jack's eyes suddenly snapped open and he stared at him with such passion, such love that Daniel was impelled to lean down and kiss him, grinding their groins together harder and faster until they both spilled their seed between their hot, sweaty bodies.

Daniel collapsed on Jack and the older man rolled them onto their sides murmuring promises of forever.

The fantasy had little variations. Sometimes Daniel would swallow Jack's penis whole and suck and lick along his length. Occasionally they would lie on their sides face to face and they would masturbate each other. He enjoyed it best, he imagined, when they moved against each other, their cocks sliding in contact with each other until they climaxed together crying each other's names. He couldn't imagine anything better than holding each other tightly as they came, staring into one another's eyes. 

There was something else he thought about but as he had no frame of reference for it he couldn't really imagine it. His love of history had meant that he'd read of it in the past but he hadn't given it much consideration at the time but when he realised his feelings for Jack he specifically looked up the subject in his extensive library. 

He remembered he'd seen references to it particularly in books about ancient Greek warriors and then he tracked down other works. When he tried to imagine being that intimate with Jack, performing and allowing physical penetration with another man he had a variety of reactions. He could imagine doing it to another man; after all it couldn’t be that much different from penetrating a woman could it? But the idea of allowing such …such an invasion into his own body? At first he couldn't countenance the thought but Daniel had never been afraid to explore ideas and the more he thought about it, being intimate like that with Jack, taking part in an act of ultimate belonging, to take and to be taken… he became totally fascinated by the idea… and irrevocably sad that he'd never know the experience.

Now, sitting on his bed half naked with an erection he would have to deal with after thinking about his fantasy, he suddenly wondered if perhaps one day he and Jack could experience that together and the image his mind conjured up caused his orgasm to race through him. 

Then, with a pang he remembered that first Jack had to get home safely from France with de Tournay and Armand St. Just. He still wished Jack had allowed him to accompany him; it would be nothing short or torture to wait and wonder.

However, the thought of Armand reminded him of his promise to keep an eye on Marguerite. He needed his ride more than ever now to burn off some excess emotional energy and then later he would go visit Jack's house and see Marguerite. He just wasn't exactly sure what he would say to her; they were polite to each other in company but it was always Jack he visited, never Marguerite. 

He hoped his ride would blow the cobwebs away and he could think of a reason.

~~~~

Marguerite had managed to finally fall asleep in the early hours of the morning and when she finally awoke it was late, almost eleven o'clock. She had a light breakfast of coffee and fruit and she stood in her window overlooking the park and the stables. She was surprised to see Wilkins, the Head Groom come riding into the stable yard leading Sultan, his saddle empty. The horse was Sir Jonathon's favourite mount that only he ever rode. She had assumed he was out riding that morning as was his usual habit, most often with Sir Daniel Jackson. Why would the groom be leading back the horse, unless Jonathon had been thrown? 

She soon dismissed that idea though as she watched another groom calmly taking the animal from Wilkins, who then dismounted and sauntered into the kitchen, probably for a drink or a bite to eat. If there had been any kind of accident there would have been a hue and cry. Frowning, she sent for Wilkins and while she was waiting Frank, her husband's valet, delivered a message through her maid, Eliza. Scanning the note she saw that Sir Jonathan had gone north to his estate to solve a problem that had occurred suddenly. He didn't explain the problem, just asked her to forgive him for spoiling her plans for the weekend and said he hoped to be back in a few days.

There was a knock at the door and Wilkins waited on the threshold. 

"You wished to see me, milady?"

"Yes, Wilkins. Pray what were you doing with Sultan?"

"Oh, well Sir Jonathon wanted to ride to the slip at Greenwich, milady so I accompanied him and returned with Sultan."

"To the slip?" she asked, her eyebrow rose. "My husband boarded the Day Dream?" She did not allow her surprise to show, it would not do for the servants to wonder why she had no idea her husband was taking his yacht out.

"Yes, milady."

"Good," she said with a false smile, "thank you." Wilkins bowed and left.

Marguerite was now extremely restless. Something was going on and she couldn't for the life of her work out what. Why would Jonathon lie to her? He had no need, she had no control over what he did, if he wished to go north it was no more to her than if he wished to go out from Greenwich in his yacht. Yet where would he sail alone? Wait, she didn't know that he was alone. Oh, the more she thought about this, the more confused and yes, irritated she became. She had no time for such concerns now.

She had walked the whole length of the corridor from her suite of rooms to his and was about to turn back when she saw the door to his study, which, when Sir Jonathon did not use it, was always, kept locked. His own valet, Frank, had charge of this room. No one else was ever allowed to go inside. Marguerite had never cared to do so, and the other servants, of course, dared not to break this hard-and-fast rule.

She had in fact laughingly chided him on occasion for this secrecy, declaring he allowed no one in for fear they would see how little studying went on inside, suggesting instead all it contained was a comfortable chair so he could doze in private. 

This day she decided to breach his barrier and as if fate were on her side she saw the door was ajar. Tentatively she pushed it open, supposing Frank must be in there. However, it was empty.

She was surprised to see the severe simplicity of the room, heavy hangings and dark oak furniture -- just a desk and a couple of chairs -- the walls decorated with just one portrait and a couple of maps. Nothing of the man she thought she knew, the lazy man about town, the lover of gambling and race-courses, the wit and composer of doggerels. Just a neat, orderly room with not even a piece of paper out of place on his desk. 

She walked over the large portrait filling one wall. It was clearly of Sir Jonathon's father, the likeness was unmistakable. She studied the handsome face, the sharp intelligent eyes, the long fingers. She looked at the eyes again and saw something of Jonathon in them when his lazy expression didn't make it appear as if he didn't open them properly. Suddenly her eyes were drawn back to the long fingered hand with the ring on one finger. She gasped as she saw the design on the ring, the design repeated clearly in the bottom right hand corner of the painting. 

A small red, star-shaped flower. The wayside flower.

She swung back to look again at the only other decoration in the room, two maps on the opposite wall. She moved closer, staring. One map was of Paris, the other of the north coast of France.

She backed out of the study her mind in a whirl.

"My Lady, you have a visitor, Sir Daniel Jackson has asked to see you," Eliza, her maid, said walking along the corridor towards her.

Sir Daniel? He never visited unless Sir Jonathon was home and he was asking to see her? This unusual occurrence at this particular time was all the confirmation she needed.

"I will see him in the rose garden shortly." As her maid ran off to direct Sir Daniel into the garden, Marguerite returned to her room, taking a few minutes to compose herself. She made sure she looked her best then she walked calmly downstairs and out into the rose garden.

She saw Sir Daniel drifting from bush to bush, his fingers occasionally brushing a flower and she was drawn to his wistful expression. 

As she looked at him, she wondered why she had never before thought how odd it was that he was Jonathon's best friend. On the surface they seemed so different. Oh, it was true they both enjoyed riding and they attended the boxing club together. However, Sir Daniel did not gamble and he rarely attended the races, preferring to actually ride. He also had an insatiable need to learn, forever reading and discussing with anyone who would listen. The idea of this erudite young man being so close to her thoughtless, seemingly slow-witted husband was ludicrous but now, at last, she understood.

He was a true friend to Sir Jonathon and as she knew for a fact from Chauvelin, he was a member of the League. It seemed perhaps she'd had the wool pulled over her eyes more than once. Marguerite St. Just, the acclaimed intelligent woman had been fooled by a 'fool’.

As she approached Daniel turned to her and she offered her hand for him to kiss which he did fleetingly as he bowed over it. 

"To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure, Sir Daniel?"

"I have come to explain your husband's sudden departure for the north. He only had time to send you a brief note and he asked me to explain fully. He also suggested that I accompany you to Lady Sumner's soiree tomorrow evening if you still wish to attend."

"I see. You wish to explain why Sir Jonathon has gone north?" Sir Daniel nodded, a gentle smile gracing his handsome features. "Perhaps instead," she continued, "you might explain where exactly he has gone in the Day Dream? Or should I ask, where has the Scarlet Pimpernel gone in the Day Dream?"

"Madam?" Daniel asked, shocked.

The sound of running footsteps forestalled any further questions as a groom hurried round the corner of the house. When he saw Lady Marguerite he moved in her direction and handed her a sealed letter.

"This has been sent by runner milady. The messenger said it was urgent and that milady would understand from whom it came." The man bowed and retired.

Daniel saw that Marguerite's hand was shaking as she tore open the envelope. As soon as he saw the contents he understood.

It was the letter that had been stolen from him in the Fisherman's Rest, the one written to him by Armand St. Just. He realised, of course, that it had been the Damocles sword held over Marguerite's head by Chauvelin, though he didn't understand why it had now been sent to her.

She pressed the letter to her breast and lifted her face to the sky.

"What does this mean?" he asked, a sudden dread filling him as he realised she was relieved …and something else. "Marguerite! Answer me!"

"It means the Scarlet Pimpernel - Sir Jonathon is on his way to France," she said quietly.

"And Chauvelin is on his trail?" Daniel asked roughly.

Her head snapped around to stare at him. "You …know about that?"

"I had no idea you knew it was Jack you were betraying," he said harshly.

She gasped, "I didn't know, not until this morning. If you know that much, you must know why. I had no choice ... Armand. Chauvelin would have killed him."

"And now he will have both of them."

~~~~

The yacht was about half way across the Channel on its way to Calais and Jack stood near the bow enjoying the feel of the wind as it whipped through his hair.

He trusted the Day Dream's captain implicitly having made this trip many times before so he took the opportunity to go over the plan in his mind, making sure he had left nothing to chance. Of course, the plan was originally made before he knew Chauvelin was on his trail but unfortunately there was no way to change it now as he couldn't contact Armand. His only real hope was that it would take longer for Chauvelin to get to France as he would have to post to Dover and charter a vessel from there. 

Armand had instructions to contact the Count de Tournay and lead him to the meeting place on the cliffs just west of Calais where the Day Dream could wait just off shore. Jack would take the long boat and meet them at the assigned spot. Both St Just and de Tournay would make the trip with the confident belief in the word of the Scarlet Pimpernel that all would be safe and well. Armand, of course, had no idea yet that he too would be leaving his beloved France because he too, was now in danger.

Jack was relieved that it hadn't occurred to Daniel at the time of their fond farewell that Chauvelin knew every aspect of the strategy and would be planning a warm welcome for the Pimpernel when he met up with the others, thus endangering not only his own life but that of de Tournay and St. Just. However, as dangerous as the rescue would prove to be, it would be fatal for the two Frenchmen if Jonathan did not to attempt to get them out of France. Chauvelin would ensure they received a terrible, unmerited death.

That was the reason behind O’Neill’s note at the Grenville ball; once he realised that Armand's letter had been stolen from Daniel it was all too possible that someone had full knowledge of the plans to rescue de Tournay. Also, Armand's secret association with the League was no longer a secret. 

Even though he'd didn’t realise until later who exactly had stolen the letter, it was enough for Jack to decide that he couldn't risk anyone else on this particular mission. Jack was pleased that Daniel hadn't been slated to take part in this specific mission for he would have argued against Jack going alone -- and that was even before they had admitted their feelings for one another. 

He could well imagine that Daniel would be very angry and even more concerned when he realised the full implications of Chauvelin's duplicity -- though it was likely that Jack himself would be the first recipient of the anger. Or perhaps, Marguerite. No, Daniel was first and foremost a gentleman and any ill feeling he had towards Jack's wife would be kept bottled up inside. 

With a smile, Jack decided he would quite happily face Daniel's wrath as long as the younger man allowed him to apologise, at great length and with all the ardour he possessed. 

~~~~

It was late into the night when Daniel finally reached the Fisherman’s Rest. He'd left London on his fastest horse but needed to change mounts on a few occasions in order to reach Dover in the shortest possible time. It cost him a small fortune to ensure that he obtained the very best, swiftest horses available and riding flat out he ate up the miles.

His unexpected arrival in the middle of the night caused a considerable flutter at the inn and Mr Jellyband was at great pains to make his guest comfortable, especially after the terrible occurrence in the coffee room that had befallen Sir Daniel on his last visit.

“Will you be staying the night, Sir Daniel?” Jellyband asked 

"I shall not require a room thank you, Jelly. If I could just have the use of the coffee room for a couple of hours; I shall be crossing over at the turn of the tide," he replied as he stepped over to the window and stared out into the dark.

"You will require something to eat?" Jellyband asked and Daniel nodded absently. The normally jovial innkeeper frowned, not used to seeing the young gentleman quite so distracted. He wanted to ask if everything was all right but knew it was not his place. "I shall send a tray in directly," he said, bowing out of the room.

Slowly Daniel sat down in the window seat not taking his eyes from the shadowy view beyond the glass, even though he wasn't really seeing it. He was still seeing the shock in Marguerite's eyes as she finally realised exactly what she had done. She knew Chauvelin was obsessed with his idea of what was right and that he had no consideration for anyone else's point of view; she had allowed her own selfishness to cloud her common sense. 

Chauvelin saw nothing noble or courageous in the acts of the Scarlet Pimpernel; he saw no value in any human life that didn't equate to his vision so why would the Frenchman have any concern for her brother once he’d achieved his desire? She had, albeit unknowingly, betrayed her husband to save her brother and now they were both within reach of a man who seemed to have no understanding of the meaning of clemency or compassion.

Sir Daniel told her that Armand had spoken repeatedly and at length to Sir Jonathon privately of his concerns over the extremes the Revolution was now using and as a consequence, his wish to change things. Marguerite was understandably upset that Armand hadn't spoken to her of such serious matters and then she was ashamed at her own short-sightedness in respect of her husband's character that obviously Armand had recognised. 

Daniel went on to explain that after discussing the situation with him and a couple of other founder members of the League, Jonathon had told Armand the truth and asked if he would be willing to assist them with information from France. Armand had jumped at the chance to help and the rescue of the Count de Tournay was to be his first real mission for the League. 

"You will go after him, won't you?" she asked breathlessly.

"After Sir Jonathon? There is nothing I would like more. I wanted to go with him when he left this morning but he forbade me. I have sworn to obey him." 

Marguerite had recognised his agitation and pressed her point. "Yes, of course, of course, Jonathon …and Armand, you must help Armand," she said sharply. "How can you obey Sir Jonathon so blindly?"

"Because I …respect him and I took an oath," he answered, his pride not masking his sadness.

"What means more to you, your oath or the life of your friend?" she asked harshly. "And isn't it an …understanding of this League that you will risk all for each other? How can you leave my poor brother to face this … this monster, who would cheerfully force his head under the guillotine's sharp blade?"

"And you? Have you no concern at all for your husband? You threw him to the wolves…" Daniel stopped as her face paled, knowing this was doing no good. Taking a calming breath, he continued. "You are right about one thing; Jack's life is worth more than my oath." 

He turned as if to walk away, stopped by her hesitant voice, "You are going to help?"

"Yes," he said, looking back over his shoulder.

"Please, take me with you."

"What?" he was flabbergasted.

"I feel…I should…"

"No!" he interrupted, not wanting to hear any more. "You may feel guilty but that's not a good enough reason to take you along. You would only be in the way. I have to travel fast and I have to be prepared to do whatever it takes …and I am." He turned and began to walk away.

"Please!" she cried after him.

He stopped again but did not turn. "No, milady. You will have to purge your guilt some other way."

He had left her standing among the roses with the beautiful house as a backdrop, hoping that soon Jack would see his home again.

~~~~

Chauvelin arrived in Dover harbour just as the evening tide was about to turn and shouted at his coach driver to make for the schooner at the nearest dock that was obviously making preparations to sail. 

Even as he leapt from the coach two sailors were preparing to pull up the boarding plank and waving his arms and yelling he caught their attention. The captain came to the head of the walkway and demanded he either board or back off and Chauvelin quickly ran up the plank and jumped on board the ship. His apology to the captain with given with a poorly disguised ill grace as he explained he had urgent business in France and he soothed the captain's ruffled feathers by handing over enough money for two passages to Calais. 

Still getting his heart rate under control, Chauvelin took a seat in the ship's salon. He was angry that he had been forced to make his journey from London to Dover later than he had wished because of the short-sightedness of his superior in the French Embassy in London. When he'd reported first thing that morning that he had good reason to believe that Sir Jonathon O'Neill was the Scarlet Pimpernel and that he had evidence that could lead to his arrest on French soil, he had been ridiculed. The very idea that the fop and fool, Sir Jonathon O'Neill could be the clearly intelligent and resourceful Pimpernel was ludicrous.

It took a lot of talking to convince them in the Embassy and even then it was more because of the written evidence from Armand St. Just with a rendezvous place and time for the following evening that allowed them to capitulate. Chauvelin was almost certain that Sir Jonathon would have left in his own private yacht that morning and if he didn't catch the evening tide then the man would have twenty-four hours head start. As it was he was still twelve hours behind him. Chauvelin sighed with the knowledge that he would still have enough time to gather resources in Calais and be at the abbey at the appointed time the next day.

~~~~

During his long ride to Dover, Sir Daniel kept a close eye open for Chauvelin because he suspected the man would be heading for Dover too. It was possible, of course, that the Frenchman had a head start on him if he had deduced Sir Jonathon's identity as the Scarlet Pimpernel in the library the evening before. 

Jack had commented that morning before he had left to join the Day Dream that he thought Chauvelin had been playing with Marguerite because he had been the only other person in the library around the time of the supposed meeting between the Pimpernel and members of his League. Daniel was not convinced that the Frenchman had come to that conclusion easily as Jackson believed that Sir Jonathon's portrayal of the fool was an excellent feat of acting and one he had perfected over a period of almost a year.

He had considered asking for information at the posting inns he used for his change of horses but decided he didn't know if he could trust anyone -- Chauvelin could have spies at any of the inns on the road from London to Dover in his search for the Pimpernel.

Daniel was fairly sure now that Chauvelin was ahead of him but perhaps he too was waiting for the morning tide though the notion did grip his heart that perhaps the Frenchman was already ahead of him and on the sea heading for France even now.

Pray god, he was not already too late.

The empty loneliness of the room covered him with gloom. Everything was too still and quiet, even the ticking of the clock seemed slow and reminded him of the last time he had been in this very room when Chauvelin had taken him captive. He remembered afterwards telling the man that he would rather die than betray his leader. How much more would he now offer for his lover?

It wasn't till after Jack had left that he remembered the letter Chauvelin had stolen from him, that letter Armand had written confirming the final details of the plot the Pimpernel had set into motion for the rescue of de Tournay. The French spy would know exactly where they were supposed to meet. He'd told Jack he thought it was a trap but even then he hadn't realised how prophetic his words might be.

He raised his gaze to the dark sky above and watched as the stars faded with the coming day. He closed his eyes in silent prayer that Chauvelin was not already in France setting his trap then he got up and went to find a ship to take him across to Calais.

"Sir Daniel!" 

The young man hadn't gone very far when the familiar voice stopped him in his tracks and he spun on his heel to see Lord Anthony Dewhurst and Lord Robert Hastings riding at full tilt towards him and his heart swelled at the sight of his two good friends. 

He had been more than prepared to go on his own and try and help protect Jack but with these two behind him he felt so much stronger and knew his chances of success had just gone up three-fold.

Breathlessly, Anthony said, "God, we hoped to catch you before you crossed the Channel."

Daniel smiled at his two companions. "I couldn't afford to wait for you, my friends. The stakes are too high. I couldn't trust that you would both be home in time to join me. The best I could do was to send a messenger and depend on you to follow as soon as you were able."

"Your fellow found me just about to sit down to dinner with the Prince Regent," Lord Anthony said. "Luckily my valet is no fool and realising your message was vital he told your runner where to find me. Prinny was very curious about the message but when I hinted it involved a lady's honour he simply wished me luck! Think he knew it was more than that but he didn't press."

"Then Anthony came for me…" Lord Robert began.

"Yes, I knew Robert was at the club last evening so I picked him up and we bowled down the Dover road as fast as we could."

"Knew you couldn't start out till the tide turned and didn't want you going off alone to gather all the glory!" declared Lord Robert.

"If only it were an ordinary mission we were embarking on but this is so much more dangerous. Chauvelin knows every detail of the plan and Jonathon is knowingly walking straight into it," Daniel said.

"Always did wonder how much of it was bravery and how much bravado when it came to the Scarlet Pimpernel!" Robert muttered.

Hearing, Daniel shook his head and said, "A combination of both, my friends, a combination of both."

~~~~

Jack raised a hand in farewell as his sailors rowed back to the Day Dream in the long boat and then he turned to climb the rough path from the beach to the path above. He knew without looking back that the captain would take the yacht to the next rendezvous point a little way down the coast.

He settled himself into a comfortable gait for the three mile walk to the nearest inn where he knew he could pick up a horse. He had used this same inn previously; it was a rather poor place, the floors strewn with straw, the food plain but well cooked and the wine thin and rough. Jack knew how to behave with these plain folk and soon was eating a hearty meal while a horse was being readied for him.

"Degas," he said, calling over the innkeeper. "I need to send a message; do you have anyone you could send to Rouen?"

"You can pay well?" Degas eyed him greedily. 

Sir Jonathon was no longer the smart man about town. He was wearing the clean tidy yet worn clothes of a respectable working man.

"I can pay fairly," Jack replied firmly.

"It is quite a distance, it would take …"

"If he could be there by early tomorrow I would ask my friend to give him a …reward," Jack added.

"Louis!" the innkeeper yelled and a thin youth of about twenty loped in. The innkeeper said something quietly to the young man who nodded vigorously and then moved over to Jack's table.

"Sir," Louis said respectfully.

Jack explained what he wanted Louis to do and that if the youth got the message to his friend, LaSalle in Rouen in time he would receive a bonus. Louis promised he could do it and Jack nodded. 

So, Sir Jonathon O'Neill wrote out a message for Sir Joshua Peverel who, under the name of Jacques LaSalle, was running a small carting business between Rouen and Paris which 'employed' three other members of the League and between them they gathered invaluable information which was used to rescue poor unfortunates from Madame Guillotine in Paris. 

It gave Jack hope that he had the possibility of some help if it could arrive in time. 

Louis left for Rouen as Jack mounted his horse and headed towards Calais.

~~~~

When he finally arrived at the door to the Calais office of the Committee for Public Safety Chauvelin was already frustrated. His trip across the Channel had not been a pleasant one as the sea was running high causing a most uncomfortable crossing for the passengers; it also resulted in the ship arriving two hours late into Calais harbour. On questioning the dock master he was informed that no yacht called the Day Dream had docked at the harbour and wishing perhaps the ship had gone down in the rough seas he asked about the crossing that morning, only to be told it had been smooth as glass and made for excellent sailing weather. 

Figuratively gnashing his teeth at the good fortune of his nemesis he made his way to the office of Public Safety and on arrival he asked to see the District Inspector. 

The perfunctory reply by a young man who didn't even bother to look up from his papers was that the Inspector was busy; it caused Chauvelin to snarl, "I am Chauvelin, an Accredited Agent of the Republican Government and I demand to see him immediately."

The young man dropped his quill and jumped to his feet, stammering, "Yes, of course, yes, sir this way." He almost ran across the room, knocked and opened the door opposite, "Citizen Chauvelin to see you sir."

"Chauvelin, I know no one of that name, who is Chauvelin?" a nasally voice enquired. Behind a large desk a rather rotund man sat and he was presently in the middle of eating what could only be a late breakfast. The voice seemed most out of character with the man to whom it belonged.

"I am," a harsh voice answered as the door slammed shut. "I am Accredited by the Government and my mission is to capture the Scarlet Pimpernel and..."

"Show me your papers," the man interrupted.

Chauvelin immediately knew the type of man he was dealing with here. He considered himself to be the most important man in the town of Calais which, truth be known, he was. A word from him and anyone would end up in the city prison and quite possibly ending their days walking up the short flight of steps to the guillotine. So, the agitated Chauvelin had two choices, shout the man down and put him in his place which he knew he could do. However, that could take time and he had none to waste. The alternative was easier and quicker and his pride was in his work not in his job title.

"Of course," he answered pleasantly, taking out his credentials. “I know you will agree that it is of prime importance we capture this enemy of France. As I was saying, I have evidence where he will be this evening. I need some men to surround the site and ensure his capture and those he is trying to spirit away."

All the time he was speaking the Inspector was studying his papers, even holding them up to the light from the window behind him. 

"These seem genuine," he finally deigned to answer.

"They are," Chauvelin replied, an edge to his voice. "Will you provide the men I require?" he asked but if he didn't get the answer he wanted heads would roll, literally.

"Of course, sir," the nasally voice answered calmly. "I serve France and the capture of this renegade in my city would be an honour."

Pressing his lips together he understood only too well the honour the man would be expecting to gain from this but Chauvelin had no intention of sharing the honour with anyone. He'd earned it and he alone would garner it.

"However," the man continued, "most of my men are out on patrol in the environs and will not return until later. I can spare six men for your immediate use and will arrange to send others to join you later. Where does your evidence say the Pimpernel will be?"

~~~~~

With a gracious bow, Armand St Just showed the Count into the small private parlour of the inn on the outskirts of Calais. 

Armand was feeling justifiably proud of himself. In the past few days he had made contact with the Count, proved his links with the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel and his worth to de Tournay, keeping his wits about him as he's led the old man to Rouen. Then with the help of Sir Joshua Peverel they'd travelled on through Rouen to Calais following exactly the instructions he had received from the Scarlet Pimpernel and which he had confirmed for Sir Daniel. 

Now all he had to do was wait a few more hours until they could make the rendezvous in the old abbey outside the town and then de Tournay could cross over to England to join his family. Once Armand had proven himself to his brother-in-law -- he still found it hard to credit that the Scarlet Pimpernel was none other than Sir Jonathon O'Neill -- he could be trusted to perform other perhaps more dangerous or more involved missions for the League. 

He knew without doubt that the mass slaughter undertaken by those in charge of his country were no less evil than the actions of those they sought to destroy. He'd already been having doubts and his conversations with Jonathon and then other friends of his brother-in-law had helped him to coalesce his thoughts and ideas and bring him to the only conclusion possible for him.

Sitting now in the small nondescript inn in a quiet suburb of Calais, he wondered if his sister really knew the kind of man she had married and he truly believed she did not. He thought back to their last conversation on the hill top overlooking the sea at Dover and how close he had come to telling her the truth. However, he had realised from her statements that Jonathon had kept much from her and he had to admit he'd been disappointed in her reaction to her husband, in her expectations -- or rather lack thereof -- for her life with him. 

Armand thought he had perhaps grown up a little during that conversation, stopped idolising his sister to see her as she really was, a rather self-centred shallow woman who had been told too often how special she was. He understood why Sir Jonathon kept his alter ego a secret from his wife. Maybe in time he could help her to see the truth she so wilfully ignored in the world around her, maybe in time she could appreciate the man she denigrated.

Armand looked at the clock and thought perhaps they should rest while they had the opportunity, within a few hours they would be on the move again, this time hopefully for the Count it would be the last leg of his journey.

~~~~

Jack reached Calais just as the sun was setting and he rode his horse towards the inn where he knew Armand and the Count were supposed to stay, though it was more than possible they hadn't arrived yet. He dismounted and tied his horse to a convenient post a short way down the street and as he pretended to look at some pamphlets outside a bookstore, he was really scoping out the clientele visiting the inn. 

After watching for half-an-hour and seeing no sign of either Armand or the Count he had to decide whether or not to visit the inn in person. However, he acknowledged that the risk would be too great just in case Chauvelin already had somebody watching it. If that was the case it was likely they would allow St. Just and de Tournay to spend the night and then leave the next day to keep the rendezvous with the intention of using them as bait to catch him.

Reluctantly he decided he would have to allow things to progress as expected and he walked over to his horse, mounted and rode away to find another inn to frequent. He was tired and needed to get a good night's rest to ensure he would be at his best for the next day.

He arose early the next morning having spent a reasonable night though he had experienced a nightmare involving Daniel and a short trip up the steps to the guillotine; the result of the fear he had lived with for almost a year. When he had planned his first rescue of an aristocrat family it had been almost as a recompense for Marguerite's betrayal of the St. Cyr family; almost, because he truly did feel these people needed help. He had asked Daniel and Anthony to come along on his first venture because he trusted them and knew they shared his convictions. 

Later, of course, he wished he'd never included Daniel, not because he didn't trust him or wanted him as a member of the League but because he couldn't bear it if anything were to happen to his friend and no matter how carefully he made his plans, Jack knew he wasn't infallible. By then though, it was too late. Daniel wouldn't have understood if Jack had tried to exclude him and there was no way he could tell him the real reason, so all he could do was try and protect him and hope his friend never realised how he always tried to place him in the less dangerous situations. 

This dream, which he had all too regularly, and others like it, was the price he paid for his fear. As long as it always stayed a nightmare it was a price he could pay. Now he had the chance of a new life with Daniel, though how exactly that could be he didn't yet know. All he did know was that he would never risk Daniel's life again and he would tell him how he felt when they were next together. 

After eating breakfast and arranging with the innkeeper for a basket of food and drink for a day's riding, he left the inn and headed west towards the ancient abbey that had been built almost a thousand years previously. 

Originally it had stood on a promontory pointing out into the sea, the building surrounded by enough countryside to provide farmland to support the abbey but as the centuries passed the land was slowly reclaimed by the sea until now it was a finger of land above the sea level at low tide. At high tide the sea came so close that certain portions of the abbey were lapped by the sea, the walls of those portions eroding more as each year passed. The abbey had been abandoned long ago and most locals kept well away from the place, nervous of rumours of ghostly monks walking the hallways.

Jack had discovered the place years ago and remembered it a few months back as an excellent possible hideout on the Calais coast. 

He arrived many hours earlier than the time arranged. He wanted to check out the building’s viability as he had only had occasion to use it once before over two months ago and he needed to confirm there had been no more deterioration in the sections he needed to use. He also needed to confirm that he was the first to arrive and that no one was lying in wait for his friends. 

Once he was sure that everything was satisfactory he climbed onto the crenellated roof, which long ago had been used for protection against marauding Vikings and as he stood there looking out to sea he wondered if he would ever have cause to use the abbey again. 

He was looking across the sea towards England and he just hoped he would return safely to Daniel who he thanked god was safe at home. After this and with Chauvelin knowing his identity and that of quite a few of the League members, he thought this was probably the last mission of the Scarlet Pimpernel. 

Well, he told himself with a wry smile, if I don't keep my mind on what I should be doing the odds are I won't get home to him. 

He turned his gaze to the east where he knew his yacht was waiting around the distant headland and off the coast of Boulogne. He didn't need to be able to see the Day Dream to know it was waiting there.

Checking his pocket watch, he thought it was time to get out of sight. If Chauvelin hoped to set up a trap he would have to be arriving soon and he just hoped that Armand could get there first. He walked back down the curving stone staircase into the large hall below, which was part of the building that was still in reasonable condition. Crossing it, he descended to the lower levels where he would wait concealed until the next arrival ... whoever it might be.

~~~~

Armand reined in his horse to check that he was on the right path and the Count stopped alongside him leaning close over the young man's shoulder to look at the hand-drawn map. 

Almost against his will de Tournay had been impressed by St. Just. He had been remarkably calm at one of the Paris gates when they had passed through with false papers provided by a friend of the Pimpernel. The Count was disguised as a tailor and the cover story was that he was the father of Armand who was taking him to his sister in Calais after the older man had fallen ill with a minor seizure. Again, when they passed through Amiens and the guard had challenged their papers, Armand had been calm and persistent, his act of not understanding the guard's problem with their papers and then asking to see his superior had convinced the guard of his honesty. 

The Count had left everything in Armand's hands at the young man's suggestion. He agreed with St. Just’s assessment that he knew better how to handle these citizens of the new regime and his feigned illness gave him a good excuse not to be able to speak.

Now, at last they were so near their goal when he would finally meet the Scarlet Pimpernel and travel across the channel to be with his wife, son and daughter.   
Armand was sure now he was on the right path and with a nod at the Count they started riding again.

~~~~

Inspector Colbert had made it perfectly clear that Calais was his domain and the soldiers were his to order, his to allow Chauvelin to use. Oh, the inspector was very obliging; of course he wanted to help the man from Paris and he wasted a lot of time repeatedly telling Chauvelin until the other Frenchman finally lost his temper. He demanded immediate action telling Colbert that if his ineptitude allowed the Scarlet Pimpernel to escape that he would answer for it with his head. 

So now, over two hours later, he was finally leaving the stables behind the Office of Public Safety with six mounted soldiers. 

~~~~

The vessel the three friends travelled in finally put into Calais harbour. Chauvelin had not been on their vessel which was both a blessing and a curse. If he had been on board they'd have known where he was but then he would also be aware they were on their way to assist their leader, not only confirming his supposition but putting him even further on his guard. However, as two other vessels had left Dover on the morning tide it was still possible they were all arriving at roughly the same time. 

Sir Daniel's prevailing fear was that Chauvelin had managed to catch the evening tide the night before. He’d certainly had time; there was no denying that fact. If he had concluded at the Grenville ball that Jack was the Scarlet Pimpernel he could have taken immediate action, though, as Sir Robert had pointed out when they discussed it during the trip over, it was likely he would have to report his findings to the Ambassador before he could take action. Still, that left enough time, maybe, for him to have caught the evening tide. 

God, I'm going in circles and not doing anyone any good like this! Daniel thought dejectedly.

"Right," Daniel said, determined to get his mind back on doing something and not on panicking, that wouldn't help Jack. "We have three options. One," he said, ticking them off on his fingers, "Armand and de Tournay shouldn't have left yet for the abbey; one of us could try and intercept them at the inn. Two, one of us could go for help to Sir Joshua in Rouen, or three, we can stay together and go directly to the abbey."

"Not enough time to get help from Rouen," Lord Robert shrugged.

"And there's no guarantee we could get to Armand in time to stop him, or we could simply miss them on the way through the town; that's too risky. The Pimpernel will need all the help he can get," Lord Anthony spoke up.

"So we don't split our forces. Good, I agree." Daniel sighed with relief. 

Such decisions had always been handled by Jack before and he didn't want to make the decision that might cost him his life. Daniel was just glad they'd all come to the same conclusion. Even as that thought occurred he also realised that if they had wanted to go somewhere other than the abbey, he would have gone there alone because whatever happened he wanted to be where Jack was.

After leaving the dockside they walked as swiftly as they could to the nearest inn and tried to hire three horses. Daniel was frustrated to discover that only two mounts were available. Robert and Anthony exchanged glances behind Daniel's back; they both knew how close Jonathon and Daniel’s friendship was and their companion’s agitation was obvious.

"You two take these," Robert volunteered eyeing the horseflesh, "and I'll get a mount where I can and I'll catch up with you later."

"Very well," Anthony said as Daniel turned to mount one of the horses. "You sure of the route?" he asked Robert. 

"Committed to memory," Robert said, tapping his temple as he spoke.

Daniel nodded absently to Robert as he and Anthony rode out of the inn courtyard and turned west towards the abbey. 

~~~~

The room Jack had chosen to hide in was at the front of the building underneath the road bridge leading to the front gate where he could easily hear anyone riding towards the abbey and he heard the approaching horses before they even hit the bridge. He recognised the sound as that of only two horses and he hoped it was his friends. He suspected Chauvelin would come with many more men. Hurriedly but no less cautiously he climbed to the hall above and watched hidden, as two men entered. 

"Come along, sir," he heard Armand speaking to his companion, de Tournay. "We're finally on the last leg of our journey."

"I hope that is true, sir, for I am weary. Not of the body, you understand but of the spirit. It seems so wrong to be running away from my home, my country."

"I know but think what you're running to. Life, freedom and best of all, your family."

"Well said, my young friend," Sir Jonathon commented coming out from his hiding place.

"Jonathon!" The relief in Armand's voice was evident.

"You’ve made good time Armand for which I am eternally grateful."

Armand frowned, something was wrong, he sensed it immediately. It was nothing his brother-in-law said in words, more the tone of his voice; the glint in his eye. However, he knew enough not to question him in front of the Count. This may be his first mission but the thing that had been drummed into him was the need for unquestioning obedience. Sir Jonathon was very clear about the chain of command. 

"You are indeed welcome, Count," Sir Jonathon continued with a smile, "If I may show you to safer quarters. I'm afraid it is most unprepossessing but it is nearer our escape route. I shall return shortly, Armand." 

Armand took it as the command it was and he waited until Sir Jonathon returned from showing the Count to one of the lower rooms where he could wait on the relative comfort of a stone bench covered by a thick cloak, the nearest thing to a chair in this old building.

"What is it?" Armand asked quietly as soon as Jonathon reappeared.

"Do you know a man called Chauvelin?"

Armand frowned, "Yes, we knew him in Paris. He could be very charming but he was also very fervently in favour of the destruction of the aristocratic class ... Why do you ask?"

"Because he was sent to England to discover the identity of the Pimpernel. He captured Daniel and among his papers he found your letter."

"My letter...is Daniel all right?" Armand asked concerned.

"Yes, he is....eventually he was released and attempted to warn me but it was too late. Chauvelin took your letter to Marguerite and coerced her help in unmasking the Pimpernel. She obliged."

"What!" Armand's face lost all colour.

"In her defence I have to tell you she didn't know I was the Pimpernel, all she cared about was protecting you. However, Chauvelin now knows the truth."

Armand stared at Jonathon unable to process all that he was hearing. Marguerite had betrayed her own husband because of a stupid letter he had written ...the letter!

"Wait, if he has my letter then he knows..."

"...everything. Yes I'm afraid so."

"And you came anyway?" Armand asked incredulous.

Sir Jonathon raised an eyebrow, "What else?"

If Armand didn't already admire this man, this act of chivalrous bravery would have made him do so. It was hard to know that his sister had no inkling of the real character of the man she had married. Why could she not see the truth? It hadn't taken him long to realise that Jonathon O'Neill was much more than the fool and the wit, the horseman and the gambler. What was wrong with his sister that she, who lived closer to him than anyone else, failed to see the man he truly was? With sudden insight he realised that his sister's eyes were too full of her own reflection to see anyone else.

"I'm sorry. You are being very generous defending her; she believes she has no one but me. She ..." Armand hesitated, not knowing how to say what he was thinking without upsetting his brother-in-law.

"She doesn't believe I love her and she doesn't love me," Jonathon interjected with bald honesty. "You have no need to apologise for what is no fault of yours. She doesn't know that I am aware of what she has done and I leave the choice of whether or not to tell her to you."

"But sir, after this, what of your marriage?"

"That is between my wife and me. Now, if you please," Jonathon indicated the stairs leading below, "I will show you what you must do when the time comes.

A little over an hour later, Jonathon was pacing the hall. It wasn't yet time for the Day Dream to arrive and he had a creeping premonition that something was going to happen, soon ...something bad. He was pacing back towards the main entrance when he heard it. Faint at first, louder as they approached. Horses, at least eight he guessed. With a wry smile he realised Chauvelin had arrived at last. 

~~~~

There, at last, the abbey. It looked in better repair than he'd expected from what he'd been told, then he realised he couldn't see the seaward side from this approach.

"Hurry, men," Chauvelin chivvied the soldiers, "almost there. Now remember, no one must escape, shoot if you have to but try not to kill. These three must face trial and execution in Paris."

The soldiers hadn't been told who they were hunting. Colbert had wanted to tell them at the outset thinking it would raise their morale but Chauvelin believed it would have the opposite effect. The actions of the Scarlet Pimpernel had created legends surrounding him that raised the man to something of a cross between a magician and the devil. He convinced the Inspector that his capture would be more likely if the men thought it was just important aristocrats they were preventing from escaping.

As they rode up to the ancient building Chauvelin noted that the tide was coming in and he wondered yet again why the Pimpernel had chosen this place. He scanned the horizon but the sea was still, calm and empty. There was only one road onto what was fast becoming a small island, over the road bridge to the front gate. He led his small band of men onwards.

Chauvelin was prepared to break down the door but was surprised to find it wasn't locked or barred in any way. He opened it, his pistol in one hand and his sword in the other, flanked by two of his men, the other three behind. The sixth man was tying off the horses.

Chauvelin stopped only a few steps inside when he saw Sir Jonathon O'Neill, dressed in his tasteful town clothes and looking every inch the perfect English gentleman, lounging on the inner stone sill of one of the huge windows, one foot up on the sill, his hands loosely linked around his knee. 

"Why, my dear Chauvelin, I have been expecting you these last two hours, whatever kept you?" O'Neill asked cheerfully as if the Frenchman was late for dinner.

Chauvelin waved the others back, to spread out around the room and they began to search. He sheathed his sword but kept his pistol in his hand though, dropping his hand loosely by his side.

"Well, Sir Jonathon it was ...thoughtful of you to wait for me. Where are your friends?"

"Friends? Oh, I have no friends in this benighted country any more. All my friends are back home, safe in England."

"Oh no, I read the letter remember and you have had no opportunity to change those plans. Armand St. Just and the Count de Tournay are here with you. Do not trouble yourself, my men will find them."

"They will have a long swim. The wash will do them good I expect."

Chauvelin ignored the casual insult and merely stood watching his adversary as the soldiers searched.

"Sir?" one the soldiers called to Chauvelin who turned at the interruption. "There's nobody else here. Every where is empty."

"You are sure? You searched everywhere?" 

"Yes sir. Some of them rooms, they was unsafe to go in but they was empty." 

"Where are they?" Chauvelin demanded angrily of O'Neill.

"Who?" he replied with a cheerful frown as he slowly got to his feet.

A rage flowed through Chauvelin and he raised his pistol aiming it directly at Sir Jonathon.

Looking into the barrel, O’Neill sighed, "Ah, I knew you were no sportsman but I thought at least you might be a gentleman." He laid one hand tellingly on the hilt of his sword hanging from his waist in a black leather scabbard tooled in gold leaf.

Chauvelin smiled, lowering his pistol and putting it away in his holster he pulled free his own sword again. He may not be what this proud fool referred to as a gentleman but he had long practised the use of a sword, finding a comfort in its weight in his hand as if it belonged there for him to use on behalf of his beliefs. 

It was well known among the London set that Sir Jonathon O'Neill was an expert whip, an accomplished rider and a proficient boxer. Of his skill with a sword there was no mention.

"If you would like to try your skill," Chauvelin offered, bowing slightly and sweeping an arm out in invitation.

Sir Jonathon wasn't blind to the irony in the bow and did not return it. Instead he removed his jacket, took his sword from its scabbard and flexed it once before taking up the stance.

"Your hour has finally come," Chauvelin said heavily. 

"You think?" O'Neill smiled.

~~~~

Daniel glanced at Anthony as finally the man guarding the entrance moved nearer to the door and leaned inside apparently watching whatever was happening beyond. Quickly they rose from their hiding place behind the large boulder at the edge of the path from the beach back up to the road. 

They had decided to ride along the shoreline even though it was a little longer, because the approach from that direction was hard to see from the road. Daniel had suggested that if Chauvelin was on the way he would, of course, use the road and it would be impossible for them to approach that way without being seen. 

Lord Robert still had a copy of the hand-drawn map that Sir Jonathon had given to him when it was originally intended that he would take part in this mission. The three of them had studied it on board ship and Daniel had kept it in his possession. On seeing the large boulder just ahead he and Anthony dismounted while Daniel walked up the slight incline to check the lay of the land before they topped the rise. 

Immediately he saw the group of horses in front of the abbey and knowing that Jack and Armand were perfectly aware of the excellent hiding place to stow the horses, Daniel knew it had to be Chauvelin. There was just one guard standing by the horses and counting the mounts it meant that including Chauvelin there were six men inside with Jack. 

Whether Armand and the Count were there too was questionable but Daniel chose to believe they were. He signalled to Anthony who secured the horses' reins under a rock and climbed up to lie beside Daniel to watch for an opportunity.

After what seemed an age it presented itself.

Keeping low, they ran on the grass alongside the road until they reached the bridge under which the in-coming tide was now leisurely lapping against the sea washed turf only a few feet from the wall of the building on this side of the abbey. They had to be extremely careful now not to alert the guard who had slipped even further inside. 

Daniel moved quickly yet as quietly as he could across the stone bridge when suddenly from inside the abbey he heard the sound of steel on steel and he froze. Immediately he knew what the sound meant, a sword fight. He glanced back at Anthony who had obviously also heard the noise and suddenly a feral grin lit the young man's face. At the sight of his friend's smile, Daniel felt his spirits rise too. There was only one reason for a fight inside those walls; Jack had ruffled someone's feathers! It also explained the guard's preoccupation with what was happening inside the building. It was more interesting to watch a sword fight than an empty dusty road.

At a nod from Daniel both men drew their pistols and moved nearer the door and Daniel heard a very familiar laugh followed by the ring of steel.

"Now, my dear Chauvelin, you didn't think I carried it for show, did you?"

Chauvelin backed away, circling, watching his opponent very carefully. The man was an expert swordsman and he realised he'd been a fool not to suspect as much. He'd allowed his pride to rule his common sense. He comforted himself with the thought that if it became evident he couldn't win this contest he could simply back off and allow his men to take the Scarlet Pimpernel. Either way, he couldn't lose.

He stepped in quickly attempting to get underneath O'Neill's guard but the man had seen his move coming and with a flick of his wrist Sir Jonathon’s weapon blocked his. Chauvelin slid his blade along his opponent's aiming his point at the man's exposed abdomen, already smiling as he saw his success -- when suddenly O'Neill twisted his arm and Chauvelin found his blade aiming towards thin air while his opponent’s blade was still moving towards his neck and he couldn't get out of the way in time. He felt cold steel and warm blood on his neck.

"Pascal!" he yelled in shock to the sergeant of his guard.

"Fear not, my dear Chauvelin," Sir Jonathon said in a lazy voice, "it's a mere nick."

Hearing Jack's voice, not only full of life but full of laughter, did wonders for Daniel's morale and with a quick glance at Anthony, who nodded in response, Daniel jammed his pistol into the back of the guard who half turned in astonishment. Anthony threw the door wide open as Daniel shoved the guard so hard he fell to his knees inside the entrance hall as both men pointed their raised pistols at the stunned inhabitants of the room. 

Daniel's pistol was aimed directly at Chauvelin but he spared a quick glance for Jack whose expression clearly showed he was as shocked as everyone else at their sudden appearance. As he watched, Daniel saw Jack's expression change from surprise to puzzled pleasure and then to anger and frustration and Daniel knew he had much to answer for. He met Jack's gaze levelly acknowledging that he knew -- but he didn't care. His Jack was safe.

Sir Jonathon stared at his would-be rescuers and had to fight to keep his smile from breaking out. For a moment he'd been shaken to see Daniel standing there, his pistol unerringly pointing at Chauvelin but he realised that really he shouldn't have been. Daniel was nothing if not courageous and determined and Jack should have known that once the young man calmed down enough to think things through, he would realise the risk that Jack was taking. Hence this rescue. Jack wondered who else he'd brought with him, surely not just Anthony. Staring at the man he loved Jack knew they were going to have a long, long talk when all this was over.

Jack walked casually over towards Daniel; no-one would have guessed that to all intents and purposes he had just been involved in a fight to possibly save his life. 

He leaned in and said quietly so only Daniel could hear. "You and I have a conversation to have when we get home. Don't think I don't know who instigated this little ...adventure."

Daniel made as if to speak but instead he closed his mouth and shrugged.

Anthony covered Chauvelin and the soldiers while Jack and Daniel disarmed them when suddenly the Frenchman spoke up. 

"You think you have won?"

Sir Jonathon stepped back and stared at the man before turning to make a point of scanning the room and then said slowly, "Well, yes, I seem to be the one not being covered by a weapon."

"What are you going to do with him?" Anthony asked.

"I had considered running him through, or I had considered shooting him as appealing as that might be... However, I think the best course of action would be to let his own government deal with him. I suspect Robespierre may be a little upset when I take St. Just and de Tournay back to England right under the nose of our friend here."

"Poetic justice," Anthony nodded his approval.

"They are safe, here?" Daniel asked.

"Presently," Jack answered as they prodded the Frenchmen down the stairs and into one of the rooms. There was a sturdy door with a thick plank of wood used as a locking bar between two iron brackets set into the stone.

Chauvelin suddenly called as they turned to climb the stairs.

"Did you really think it would be that easy? That I would bring just six men?"

They looked at each other and Sir Jonathon raised an eyebrow. He had expected more soldiers but he said nothing and walked back up the steps.

Back in the entrance hall, Jack turned and asked the other two if they had seen the map he'd drawn of the abbey and its environs and Daniel quickly pulled it from his pocket. Pointing out a section of beach just east of the abbey Jack explained there was a small concealed cave there just above the high tide line where he had sent Armand and the Count to hide in safety until the Day Dream could move in closer. Even as he spoke he hurried over to the east facing window embrasure where he had been sitting when Chauvelin had first arrived. 

Smiling he turned back, "She's coming in."

Even as he spoke they heard the pounding of many horses on the hard packed road and Jack knew Chauvelin hadn't been lying. He looked at the other two, his gaze lingering a second on Daniel as their eyes met. 

Daniel smiled and nodded. "We'll keep the soldiers back while they escape?"

"Captain Briggs is aware that I was going to send the escapees to the cave and he will heave to and send the longboat to pick them up first."

Anthony was already taking a look out of the front entrance, keeping carefully behind the door and out of sight of the road. 

"Damn, there's about a dozen of them, at least."

"We've got to give them time to get Armand and de Tournay and then get back for us."

"What about Robert?" Anthony suddenly asked, "He could be on his way here by now."

"Robert Hastings?" Jack asked, "He's with you?"

"Where do you suppose I got the map," Daniel answered shortly.

Anthony took up position behind the door, Jack went left and took the window facing the oncoming road and Daniel took the window overlooking the bridge.

As soon as they came within range Jack began firing, followed quickly by Anthony. Daniel held fire until someone attempted to cross the bridge. 

~~~~

Armand was just about to get into the boat after the Count when he heard firing from the abbey. He turned as if to move that way when one of the sailors grabbed his arm. 

"I'm sorry, sir, our orders are to get you and the other gentleman on board immediately and then to return for Sir Jonathon."

"I know, but..."

"Please, sir, every second you argue you delay our chance to help."

"Get in Armand," the Count said, "they know what they are doing."

Armand suddenly remembered the first rule of the league of the Scarlet Pimpernel, unquestioning obedience. He quickly climbed into the boat but he couldn't take his eyes from the old abbey.

~~~~

Daniel had shot one man who had managed to get by Jack and Anthony and step onto the bridge. By now it must be obvious to the men outside that there were only the three men holding them at bay as they were forced to choose their targets carefully. 

From his cell below them Chauvelin could be heard yelling at the soldiers to attack. He couldn't see what was transpiring but he could guess and he cajoled, threatened and ordered his men to attack and take the abbey. 

Jack needed to know if the longboat was on the way back for them yet but he didn't dare leave his post to go and check out of the window on the far side of the large room. If everyone had kept to the timetable and he knew Captain Briggs was an excellent seaman, then in another fifteen minutes the boat should be on the way back for them. They just needed to keep the soldiers at bay for another fifteen minutes.

It was then that he heard it, the sound of more galloping horses. He glanced at the other two who had heard the unwelcome sound as well.

"How many do you think?" Daniel asked.

"Six, maybe more." Jack answered.

"Damn! Are we going to have to swim for it?" Anthony wondered. 

"We're not staying here, right?" Daniel said, "I'd rather risk the sea, at least the Day Dream is out there."

"Don't give up yet, we have time. The longer we can hold out the closer the boat will be," Jack told them.

Then there was the sound of a yell in English followed by a couple of shots and then a few more.

"Robert!" Anthony shouted as soon as he heard the voice, peering round the slightly ajar door. "Who is that with him?"

"Peverel," Jack said quietly, staring out of the window as the half dozen men rode at the dismounted soldiers as if charging on a battlefield, yelling and firing as they came.

Some of the soldiers held their positions and fired back, others jumped up and ran from the marauding riders screaming at them in a language they didn't understand.

"Daniel, go to the far window and see if the long boat is on the way back," Jack ordered and Daniel quickly obeyed.

"Yes, it is returning, maybe five more minutes," he called excitedly.

Jack and Anthony were still shooting at the soldiers who had stayed to fire at the oncoming riders.

"Robert!" Anthony yelled as he saw friend riding hell for leather at the road bridge. When he saw Lord Hastings look up, Anthony yelled again, "Briggs!" He knew that Robert would understand that the Day Dream was coming.

Raising a hand, Robert Hastings bawled, "Tally Ho, Peverel!" and as Anthony opened the door he rode inside the abbey.

Sir Joshua Peverel heard the whoop from Lord Anthony and also knew what Lord Robert's cryptic message meant and as soon as Hastings was safely inside he turned to his men and repeated the signal which meant they could withdraw and return to Rouen as everything was under control. "Tally Ho!" he bellowed and he and his men turned and galloped back towards Calais, a few of the soldiers jumping up and firing after them. 

Inside, Robert leapt from his horse and Daniel ran forward to shake his hand. 

Anthony slammed the door shut and leaned against it while Jack kept an eye on what was happening outside. Some of the soldiers were milling around uncertain as to what to do, while others helped those who were wounded. Only a couple were still desultorily firing at the abbey.

"Told you I'd catch up," Robert grinned.

"That you did," Daniel laughed with relief. "How ...where did you run into Peverel and his boys?"

"Ah, perhaps you should ask our doughty leader," Robert grinned again.

Jack shrugged, "I sent a message to Joshua yesterday shortly after I arrived. It seemed a sensible precaution."

"And you didn't think it worth mentioning?" Daniel queried with a raised eyebrow.

"Wasn't sure if he would make it in time," Jack replied with a grimace. "Anthony," he continued, his voice taking on a firmer tone, "would you take Robert and go below to the room at the end of the east passage. The far wall is open to the sea and you should see the long boat approaching by now. I'm afraid you may get your feet wet," he added with a smile.

As he moved across the hall after Anthony, Robert laughed, "Aye but you can dry your feet, sticking one's head back on is a tad more difficult."

"What's going on out there?" Daniel asked as Jack looked out of the window again. 

"Don't think they know what to do," Jack replied. "A few of them have run off, a few are injured. I think one of them wants to charge us, he keeps pointing this way. I think now would be a good time to leave before he gets his courage up."

"I've no reason to stay," Daniel smiled. "Got what I came for."

"You did, did you?" Jack grinned but the look in his eye was dangerous and damned sexy.

With a shiver, Daniel said huskily, "Oh yes, I did."

"Don't have time for this now," Jack said, sounding disappointed.

They ran across the hall and headed down the steps, passing the cell where Chauvelin was imprisoned. 

"This isn't the end!" the Frenchman yelled pounding on the door as they passed but neither of them answered him as they ran for freedom. 

Entering the area, Daniel saw the sea lapping in through a large hole in the lower part of the outside wall. The longboat from the Day Dream was bobbing up on down on the swell, held in place by the sailors’ expert handling of the boat. 

"Go, Daniel," Jack said, giving him a slight push in his lower back and Daniel stepped down into the cold water. 

"Damn!" he declared as the water lapped over more than just his feet, covering his legs almost to his knees as he sloshed towards the opening. He ducked under the broken wall and willing arms pulled him across and into the boat so that he fell rather than climbed inside. He was still sprawled in the bottom of the vessel as Jack clambered in and half fell across him.

Suddenly bullets whizzed over their heads as one of the soldiers had seen them from the shore and yelled to his compatriots. 

"Stay down!" Armand's voice warned.

Daniel felt a hand on his back and Jack's voice spoke so close to his ear that the breath caressed his skin and made him shiver, "Keep still." At the same time he heard the noise of someone returning fire from the boat.

"Pull, damn you!" another voice ground out harshly and the boat began to pull away from the building gathering speed as the sailors got their rhythm and in no time they were out of range of fire from the shore.

Jack and Daniel untangled themselves and sat up leaning against the side of the boat out of the way of the rowing sailors seated on the bench above them.

"Armand, what are you doing here?" asked Jack sharply of his brother-in-law seated in the stern of the boat.

"I wanted to help. When I heard the gunfire, I didn't want to leave you but the Count insisted and," he smiled sheepishly, "your First Mate here," he indicated the broad-shouldered young man in charge of the long boat, "was also very insistent that I obey."

"So, I should hope. Larson was among the first few to take the oath."

"...but he didn't object when I asked to return with him to bring you home. I just didn't expect the company though I should have."

"Not going to let him have all the fun," Robert said and Anthony's boisterous laugh signalled his agreement with that sentiment.

Daniel just sat quietly beside Jack grateful that they were going home. 

He just wished he knew what he was going home to.

~~~~

When Captain Briggs berthed the Day Dream at Greenwich it was with relief that everyone set foot back on English soil -- the Count de Tournay for the first time.

Lord Anthony suggested that he and Lord Robert should escort the Count to his wife, son and daughter while Sir Jonathon took Armand to see his sister. Sir Daniel stood in the background and realised that was where he would always be; never in the forefront of Jack's life. He knew anything else would be impossible but that didn't stop it hurting just the same.

Armand said a fond goodbye to the Count and de Tournay told Armand he must visit him the following day when he was sure his family would like to thank him in person. 

"You know that Suzanne was always fond of you," the Count added with a smile.

"She must be a young woman now," Armand said, remembering the girl who had worshipped his sister a few years back.

"Yes and beautiful too I think, though a father may be biased."

"Oh, I think Sir Daniel might agree there," Lord Anthony said, turning to his companion who merely smiled, not having the heart to joke about romance.

Sir Jonathon glanced at Daniel quickly and then turned back to the Count and said, "I am sure we will meet again though our ...adventures must remain a secret."

"Surely, you will not be able to continue your miraculous work now that your identity is known, Sir Jonathon?"

"Perhaps not but neither do I intend to advertise the truth, one never knows when opportunity may knock."

"As you wish, sir. I will follow your lead." The Count sketched a perfect bow and said, "Till we meet again."

Sir Jonathon and Daniel watched with Armand as the others climbed into a waiting coach and then Jonathon turned and lifted a hand and signalled to a waiting sailor who stepped forward with three horses. 

As Armand went to mount one of the horses Jack turned to Daniel and asked, "Will you come to Richmond with me?"

"Is that wise?" Daniel replied softly.

"And why not? How many years has my friend, Sir Daniel Jackson, visited me at my home, stayed with me or I visited him. Why should anything change now?"

Daniel cocked his head to one side realising the truth of what Jack was saying. Unless they had a falling out it would seem strange if they changed their routine now, strange and so unnecessary. He smiled and turned to mount his horse.

~~~~

When she saw the three men riding up the drive to the house and realised that one of them was Armand, Marguerite was filled with relief and found herself running down the stone steps into the driveway without remembering leaving the drawing room.

When he saw his sister running towards him, Armand spurred his horse faster and leapt off before the animal stopped. He swept her into his arms and Jonathon watched with a mixture of pleasure for their reunion and lingering anger at his wife's deceit.

"Let it go, Jack," Daniel said softly beside him. "I doubt she'd even understand and does it really matter any longer?"

Jack turned to look at his friend and he smiled realising he already had everything he wanted, what did the selfishness of his wife matter?

They dismounted, passing the reins to a couple of stable lads and turned to enter the house. Marguerite was still standing there, her arm linked in Armand's.

"I'll never be able to thank you," she said looking at Sir Daniel. "If you hadn't gone after him..."

"I think you are speaking to the wrong man," Daniel said coldly.

At the self-same moment Armand said, "Marguerite!"

"I wasn't suggesting that I don't owe the life of my brother to the ... to my husband," she continued smoothly, "I merely meant that Sir Daniel took vital information that must have aided in the escape and for that I thank him." She turned her back on them and said to Armand, "Come you must tell me of your adventures. How did you get the Count out of Paris?" she asked as she climbed the steps back into the house.

Armand glanced back over his shoulder to look at Jonathon and Daniel, the young Frenchman clearly embarrassed.

He waited until they entered the drawing room and they were quite alone before Armand said in a low irate voice, "What is wrong with you? Jonathon risked his life more than once to rescue me and de Tournay and he stayed behind to protect us from Chauvelin while his sailors came to take us safely to the ship. In fact if it hadn't been for Sir Daniel and his friends arriving to help, you might be a widow about now!"

Half-an-hour later Marguerite was slowly climbing the stairs to go and visit her husband. Armand had been very angry with her and though she had tried to defend her actions, explaining to her brother how afraid she had been for him, how threatening Chauvelin had been to her, Armand told her in no uncertain terms it did not excuse her behaviour and certainly not her attitude to Sir Jonathon. She had agreed that she owed him an apology and Armand had insisted she should go and offer it to him immediately. Reluctantly she agreed. She wasn't happy about having to do this but she couldn't tell Armand that; the young man seemed to idolise her husband now.

Slowly she approached her husband's suite of rooms trying to think of what to say to satisfy Armand's wishes and keep her own pride. As she neared the door she heard her husband's voice. He wasn't alone.

~~~~

"Please," Jack said standing behind Daniel as the younger man stared out of the window. "I don't need to tell you how much I love you, do I? God, don't you think I know how hard this is going to be, trying to make a life, a future with you? If anyone found out it would be a terrible scandal but I don't care, I need you. I tried so hard not to. Why do you think I took a wife? But it didn't help, if anything it made things worse, just showed me how much I needed you.. I've faced all this, I've looked it in the eye and I still choose you."

"God, Jack, I love you too," Daniel replied turning round, so close to Jack now that his breath brushed across Jack's face. "I just don't want to ruin your life."

"You can only do that by rejecting me. I want you, Daniel, in every way one person can want another. I want to touch you, to feel you..." He reached out and caressed a cheek. "Anyway, I thought we'd settled all this before I left. I seem to remember..." Jack's fingers drifted down towards Daniel's lips.

"Oh, yes, somebody was going to tell me a fantasy," Daniel whispered, his lips almost touching Jack's now and suddenly the older man slipped a hand behind Daniel's neck and pulled him close and their lips met.

Softly at first, just brushing one another's mouths as tongues slipped out to lick, to taste until Daniel opened and allowed Jack entrance. Daniel had wrapped his arms around Jack now and their bodies were pressed together, seeking contact wherever possible.

~~~~

When Marguerite had first heard Jonathon speaking of love she assumed he had another woman in his room and she was furious that he would dare bring his ...his paramour to their home. She had never, never in a thousand years expected to hear a man's voice reply, to hear Sir Daniel speak such words of love to another man -- to her husband!

She knew, of course, that such liaisons existed. One couldn't live in Paris and not know of such relationships but she had always thought of such illicit practices as sordid and purely for physical gratification. She had never considered that two men could have such an emotional attachment as she heard being declared in her husband's room. She couldn't claim to understand such ...such a ...such a need but clearly it was real for them. She'd also always believed, clearly erroneously, that such men were effeminate but that couldn't be farther from the truth regarding her husband and Sir Daniel.

She suddenly realised she couldn't just stand there. She either had to retreat or confront them. She had never been a coward and perhaps there was some advantage for her in all of this. It wasn't as if she loved her husband, she only cared for the position he could provide for her, the lifestyle she needed as much as breathing. Well, now she had a way to guarantee her status which only a few short minutes ago she had been concerned she may be at risk of losing.

They had been silent for a few moments now and cautiously she peered in through the very narrow gap that had been left when the door hadn't been closed properly. The sight that met her eyes shocked her at first and then she found she couldn't look away. 

Sir Jonathon had one hand on Daniel's neck and the other on the small of his back holding the younger man close as they kissed. Daniel had his arms wrapped around her husband's waist and they were pressing their groins together and moving against each other in a slow circular motion. But what really grabbed her attention was how they were kissing. Somehow she had envisioned two men in such a situation as being rough with each other, both fighting for control but it wasn't remotely like that. The kiss was slow and languorous, mouths moving against each other, bodies seeming to move in time with the kiss. 

How could he want to be intimate, to so blatantly want to have sex with a man after having had her? Surely she was perfect?

Staring at the unexpected sight before her, she was surprised to find it totally erotic and she pulled back to get a grip on herself. She could hardly believe that she wasn't disgusted by what she had seen yet somehow she knew they really did care for each other and though she couldn't understand such feelings she had no choice but to acknowledge them.

The unwelcome thought came then that he'd never looked at her the way he did at Daniel, he'd obviously never had such feelings about her. Had he just ...gone through the motions, been the dutiful husband? Had she never really interested him at all? Her stomach twisted at the thought then she tossed her head; what did it matter? I never really cared about him. He was just a means to an end. 

But what if it became public knowledge that her husband preferred a man to her? She, the perfect woman couldn't hold her own husband! It if got out it would ruin her reputation as much as his. Oh god, that mustn't happen!

When she felt able to face them, she knocked on the door and then waited until her husband called for her to enter.

She pushed open the door and found Sir Jonathon standing alone in the middle of the room. 

Sir Daniel was standing by the window, his back to the room, staring out of the window. In the half-light of dusk she could see his reflection clearly and his expression was troubled. As if he knew he was being watched he looked up and as their eyes met neither one could look away. 

~~~~

Breaking the kiss at the knock on the door, Daniel swiftly moved across to the window, the move only reinforcing his own concern at even talking like this in Jack's home. The kiss, while wonderful, made him feel guilty and when he looked at his reflection in the glass he was shocked to see it was Marguerite who had knocked. He had assumed it was a servant. He had meant it to be a quick glance to see who it was but when their eyes met he knew -- on some elemental level he couldn't explain -- he simply knew that she understood.

He turned, fully aware of Jack watching him but he was unable to take his eyes from her face. "Lady Marguerite?" he said, his voice an odd mixture of pride and embarrassment. "Do you wish me to leave?"

Jack frowned not understanding either the question or the look on Daniel's face. Instinctively he moved closer to Daniel.

Cocking her head to one side, she said. "No, I think it's too late for that." She turned her attention to Jonathon. "I think I understand so much more now. What would the society you entertain so well think of this... thing ...between the two of you?" She stopped to let her words sink in, giving her husband an extravagantly assessing look. "What would the Prince Regent say if he knew the truth about his friend?"

Daniel gasped glancing at Jack with horrified eyes to find that Jack was staring at Marguerite, his eyes sparking with the fire of anger.

"And how would your friends ...your adoring circle of admirers react if they knew that you were prepared to sacrifice your own husband, the Scarlet Pimpernel to the French!" Sir Jonathon spoke icily.

Her face flushed, though whether with anger or embarrassment it was difficult to tell. Marguerite scoffed, "You would never reveal yourself."

"Reveal myself? You already gave me up to Chauvelin. I only managed to escape by the skin of my teeth thanks to my friends," he reached out to touch Daniel's shoulder, absently giving it a little squeeze. Lifting his chin, he faced her squarely and said, "I, my dear, can live without the society you crave so much. I can take Daniel and retire to my estate in the north." 

As he spoke firmly to Marguerite his eyes asked the question of Daniel that he had never put into words, silently asking if he would be willing to give up his life in the city and retire to the country. 

Daniel smiled softly as he almost imperceptibly nodded agreement and then as if for her benefit, he added, "We could even go abroad." 

She stared at them, first one and then the other as they looked at each other. She realised they meant it, rather than give in to her threat they would simply retire from society. With a shiver she wondered if first Jonathon would make good on his threat to expose her.

As if he felt or saw her reaction, Jonathon turned to her again. "It seems we have an impasse."

"Yes," she agreed quietly. "Is it...can we...?"

"Can we come to some equitable arrangement?" Jonathon put her aborted question into bald terms.

She took a deep breath, she had to keep her wits about her or she could lose everything. "Can we? I, er... Armand made it very clear that he considers I owe you an apology but I don't suppose he was aware of the fact that you were breaking your marriage vows and in such a way."

"I don't think mentioning our marriage vows is a particularly good defence, do you?" Jonathon asked with asperity. "I have no intention of mentioning names but you are no innocent as I am well aware," he gave a quick glance at Daniel and Marguerite realised what a stupid mistake she had made attempting to seduce that particular young man.

Continuing in a cool voice, Jonathon said, "I will continue to keep you in the style to which you have become very accustomed and as far as the outside world is concerned I will play the husband to your dutiful wife. You can continue to cut your swathe through London society and no one will ever know the difference -- providing you understand that what I do in my private life is no concern of yours. As far as you are aware, Daniel is my friend just as he has always been. At the first whiff of a rumour I cut you off and retire to the north. Is that understood?"

"Oh, I think I understand only too well. You have been play-acting for the whole of our marriage and I suppose I have to admit that so have I." She gave a small sigh. "We will just carry on but now we each admit to knowing the other's secret and for our own sakes we keep them just that, secret."

Sir Jonathon performed an ironic courtly bow saying, "My lady's wish is of course my command."

She turned on her heel to leave when his voice halted her, "Don't forget my dear, we have to attend the Portner's ball this evening."

Without turning she replied, "Of course and will Sir Daniel be joining us?"

"I was invited, Lady Marguerite so naturally I will attend."

"Naturally," she replied making it sound like as if the word left a nasty taste in her mouth as she quietly closed the door behind her.

~~~~

"Well that was ...unpleasant," Daniel said stepping away from Jack.

"I'm sorry; you shouldn't have had to witness that."

"I'm not sorry I was here, I should be involved; it concerns me too. God, Jack it's my life we are discussing here too."

"That isn't what I meant and you know it. She's my wife, my responsibility. If you want me to say it ...my mistake."

Daniel nodded his head, accepting Jack's culpability. 

Jack shrugged, "Anyway, as I think you are well aware, she will find other ...things, other men to entertain her. She won't allow this ...discovery to spoil what she wants out of life."

"Though, now she knows..."

"At least it's one person we don't need to hide from." With a sigh Jack added, "That just leaves the rest of the world."

"You don't want to stop?" Daniel asked staring at Jack.

"No, no, I just wish it didn't have to be like this," Jack reached a hand but didn't quite touch Daniel. "Why is what I feel for you judged to be wrong? Isn't what you mean to me as much a God-given feeling as any other?"

Capturing Jack's hand Daniel kissed it tenderly. "I don't know the answer to that either. I only know it's a good feeling and I refuse to feel guilty over it."

Jack suddenly pulled him in close and kissed him with an intensity that took Daniel's breath away.

~~~~

One evening a few days later, Sir Jonathon was leaving his house to meet a few friends for a card game.

"Jonathon?" Lady Marguerite's voice caused him to stop just as he was about to enter his carriage. He turned to see her hurrying down the steps.

"What is it, my dear?" he asked.

"I just wanted to make sure you don't allow your card game to distract you from returning on time to escort me to the theatre, I want to arrive there at just the right moment."

He suddenly laughed at the expression on his wife's face and understanding her better now than ever before, he smiled at her. It seemed since they had faced the truth about each other and they knew exactly where they stood, their relationship had improved. She still behaved exactly the same way to Sir Daniel, which since they had never exactly been friends was fine by both of them. Whenever Sir Jonathon spoke of him it was only ever as a friend and she always spoke of him to her husband in the same vein.

"Oh, Marguerite, I know precisely when you want to arrive and why. You want to make a grand entrance so every eye will be on you and as ever you will deserve the adoration," he smiled again and sweeping his arm across his abdomen he bowed.

She laughed at the pleasant mockery and ducked him a slight curtsey. "I suppose I should thank you for your gallantry ...if for a moment I thought you meant it."

"There is no need to worry, I won't forget," he said, reaching out and placing one hand on each shoulder. "We made a bargain and I will keep to it."

She nodded, smiling gently as he stepped back, got into the carriage and drove away. As the carriage turned out of sight, Marguerite sighed and moved slowly back up the steps.

~~~~

Watching from behind a large oak in the grounds, hidden from anyone in the house, Chauvelin gave a smile so cold it was little more than a grimace. What he saw only confirmed his suspicion. 

Marguerite had lied to him, betrayed him that night at the ball. She knew her husband was the Scarlet Pimpernel and they must have laughed at him as they concocted this whole scheme to aid the escape of Armand St. Just and the Count de Tournay right under his nose. How else could the Scarlet Pimpernel have set everything in motion? Having everyone at the right place at the right time the way he did? Chauvelin had no idea how Sir Jonathon had managed to make all the arrangements in time but then they'd been able to work out how he managed to carry out very few of his rescues.

Well, this time he had made one major mistake. He had left Chauvelin alive and now the Englishman would pay. Once the soldiers outside the abbey had seen them escaping out to sea they had finally plucked up enough courage to enter the abbey and eventually free Chauvelin and his men.

He knew he couldn't return to Paris having failed and both the French Ambassador in London and the Superintendent in Calais knew of his plan to capture the Scarlet Pimpernel; word would have definitely got back to the Committee. Before he could go home he needed to make good on his promise; it was true he couldn't now trick the Scarlet Pimpernel and lead him up the steps to meet Madame Guillotine but he could still cause his death. 

On a more personal note he wanted revenge. Revenge on the Scarlet Pimpernel -- on Sir Jonathon O'Neill -- and he also wanted revenge on Lady Marguerite O'Neill. How sweet that he could exact revenge on the man twice! Watching them together, seeing them smile stupidly at each other, watching the way he touched her, doted on her ...oh yes, he would punish the man first by killing his wife. 

~~~~

Later that evening Sir Daniel drove up to Sir Jonathon's house and he was announced to Lady Marguerite.

"Sir Daniel, to what do I owe this honour?" she asked formally, a slight edge to her voice. She was dressed gorgeously in pale yellow satin, trimmed with pearls in a flower design. She was carrying a wrap, ready to depart as she had been expecting Sir Jonathon to return by now.

"My lady," he replied just as formally. "Sir Jonathon sent me to escort you to the theatre. He sends his most abject apologies but he has been delayed by his Royal Highness, the Prince Regent."

"Prinny?"

"Yes, er...the Prince didn't like losing and wouldn't allow Sir Jonathon to leave the table until he had an opportunity to win back some of his losses."

"Ah, I understand. Not a good loser, his highness. Very well and thank you for your kindness in escorting me."

"My pleasure," he replied but Marguerite knew that what he really meant was that he was doing it for Jonathon and their agreement.

They left the house together and when she’d climbed into his carriage they set off towards London and the theatre. As they travelled down the quiet lanes, an uncomfortable silence filled the carriage as they sat side by side but not touching. 

Suddenly a shot rang out, followed by a shout and the carriage slewed across the road throwing its inhabitants to the floor in a heap. Daniel scrambled to his knees and then to his feet but before he could open the door it was thrown open and a harsh voice told them to get out.

Daniel's first thought was that they were being robbed by a highwayman as he climbed out and helped Marguerite down. However, they were faced with only one man. He was staring in surprise when he heard the gasp from Marguerite. Of course, she too recognised Chauvelin.

Daniel risked a glance at his driver and saw the man slumped over, unconscious or dead he couldn't tell. 

"Well, Sir Daniel this is not what I expected," Chauvelin said conversationally. "Where is Sir Jonathon?"

Before he could answer, Marguerite said, "What do you want, Chauvelin? Surely you know when you have lost?"

"Lost, my dear? Oh no, you and your husband just changed the rules of the game and now I shall change them back. I had hoped your loving spouse would be here to witness this but it matters not. He will find out soon enough. As for Sir Daniel here, well he will be an extra weight for the good Sir Jonathon's shoulders to bear."

"You intend to kill us?" Daniel asked quietly, while trying to think of a way out of this. Chauvelin seemed quite relaxed and he wondered if it was because the man had been expecting the Scarlet Pimpernel and his wife. If he saw Daniel Jackson as much less of a threat perhaps they might have a chance.

"You don't mean that," Marguerite said, her eyes wide.

"You shouldn't have betrayed me, Marguerite. I told you I wouldn't allow that and though at the time I was speaking of Armand he means nothing to me now. You must pay the price for your own actions."

Marguerite stepped towards Chauvelin and his attention focused on her, "I did what you asked of me," she said. "It was only later..."

Daniel leapt at Chauvelin grabbing his right wrist and forcing the weapon upwards and away from Marguerite, yelling as he did so. "Move, run!" 

After a second of stunned amazement Marguerite did as she was told and ran as fast as she could into the trees lining the road while behind her Daniel struggled with Chauvelin.

Daniel was taller than Chauvelin and he managed to get his hands on the gun with Chauvelin forcing his arm up and away but the smaller man twisted forcing the weapon towards Daniel's neck. Suddenly Daniel dropped still holding onto Chauvelin's arm pulling the surprised Frenchman over with him. Daniel landed on his back and immediately rolled on top of the Frenchman, the gun now pointing at Chauvelin's neck. 

"Stop!" Daniel yelled wanting just to hold the Frenchmen, thinking about what he could use to tie him up when suddenly Chauvelin began to struggle again cursing and threatening as he tried to force the pistol away from his neck and back towards Daniel.

The struggle intensified and it took all of Daniel's strength to keep the gun away from his body and he knew that if Chauvelin got his finger on the trigger he would be dead. The man was screaming about Marguerite and then cursing Jonathon saying he would have his revenge. 

Realising he had no other choice if he was to save his own life and that of the man he loved, not to mention Marguerite, Daniel concentrated and forced the gun barrel away from his chest and towards Chauvelin until it was underneath the other man's throat and then with cold deliberation Jackson pressed the trigger. 

The sound was deafening, and he could have sworn he felt the heat from the shot but he had closed his eyes as he pressed the trigger. He slowly opened them and turned away from the sight that greeted him. He had killed before but never so close, he had never seen what a lead ball that close to a man would do to him. He thought he would throw up and fell to his knees alongside the body, only then realising that he was covered in blood. 

He gasped taking deep breaths. He couldn't fall apart, not now. Marguerite was out there somewhere, probably terrified. God, he needed Jonathon. He's not here, think damn you, think!

He stood, a little unsteadily. "Marguerite!" he called. "Marguerite!" again, louder he called. "It's Daniel, come back please!"

He turned to the check on the carriage driver and to his sorrow he discovered that Chauvelin had killed him. 

"Daniel?" Marguerite's frightened voice called to him.

"It's all right, Marguerite, he is dead. Come back here." 

After a few moments she moved slowly out of the trees. She put her hand to her mouth when she saw the body lying on the ground and then she raised her wide eyes to Daniel.

"I had no choice, it was literally him or me ...us," Daniel answered.

"I…I know. You...you have blood..."

Quickly he leaned into the carriage remembering his cloak was inside. He swiftly slipped it around his shoulders fastening the clasp. It covered the worst of it. 

"My driver is dead, too." He paced a moment still thinking. "Get inside the carriage. I will hide the body and then take you back home. I will get changed and then go and tell Sir Jonathon."

In a quiet voice, Marguerite said. "I wondered for a moment if you would let him kill me." 

Daniel turned to her in disbelief.

"It would have made your life easier perhaps," she said, not quite a question.

"No, madam it would not. Whatever you think of me, I would never even consider such a thing. I couldn't..." He didn't know what else to say, if she could believe such a thing of him...

"I'm sorry for even suggesting that. I should be thanking you for saving my life. Please, forgive me?"

He studied her for a moment, looking closely into her eyes and she did not flinch from his gaze. Eventually he nodded.

"Please get in," he indicated the carriage and she quickly obeyed. 

He dragged Chauvelin's body into the woods then he mounted the box alongside the now dead driver and drove off into the night.

~~~~

Daniel finally turned the carriage into his driveway and he'd never been so glad to get home. As a stable boy ran out to greet him and hold the horses' heads, Daniel called for Hansen, his head groom.

Hansen arrived and doffing his cap he asked, "Evening, sir, and where might Wilkins have got to?"

In a quiet voice he told Hansen that Wilkins was inside the coach and went on to explain how the driver had been killed by an attack on the highway. 

After he had taken Lady Marguerite home and she had gone inside accompanied by her lady's maid, Daniel got help to transfer Wilkins inside the carriage before he left for the drive home.

Hansen quickly realised that Sir Daniel was at the end of his rope and suggested that he leave Wilkins in his care until proper arrangements could be made. Daniel gratefully agreed and walked slowly into his house and upstairs to his bedroom, not even noticing his servants watching his sluggish passage with worried glances.

He closed his bedroom door and leaned against it feeling totally exhausted. After a moment he pushed himself away and moved into the centre of his room. He unclasped his cloak and took it off and, catching sight of himself in the mirror, he began to shake as the shock finally settled over him. For the first time he was able to let go of his need to be strong for others and his control crumbled. He felt cold and his heart was racing. He desperately needed to remove his clothing but his hands were shaking too badly.

Suddenly his door his thrown open and Jack was framed in the opening. He took one look at Daniel, at his face streaked with blood where it wasn't as white as a sheet, at the hands shaking too badly to unbutton his blood-stained clothing and the older man yelled out for brandy and then strode into the room and pushed Daniel to sit down on a chair behind him. 

Hearing the hurrying feet of a servant Jack returned to the door, took the tray from a clearly curious maid and told her to bring a bowl of hot water with a soft cloth and a towel, before closing the door behind him. 

On the tray there was a decanter and two small brandy glasses which Jack took over to his lover and it was as if Daniel realised for the first time that he was there.

"Jack? What ...what are you doing here?" He wanted to tell him that he was glad he was there but he couldn't make himself say the words.

Jack filled one of the glasses and pressed it into Daniel's hands and when the younger man didn't move Jack slowly lifted the glass to his mouth, "Here, drink this," he said gently.

As Daniel slowly sipped the liquor and the colour gradually returned to his face, Jack began to speak in a slow, level tone. He explained how he ended the game with the Prince as soon as he could by allowing him to win and then hurried to the theatre only to wait in vain. He couldn't explain why but he'd had an odd feeling all evening and giving in to his instincts he'd hurried home and was stunned to find Marguerite there, shaken and near to tears. She explained what had happened, how Daniel had saved both their lives by having to kill Chauvelin. 

Jack didn't tell Daniel how guilty he felt that his lover had been forced to face a situation that was clearly meant for him, nor did he tell the younger man how he'd ridden like the devil to make sure that Daniel was all right only to be met by Hansen supervising the careful removal of Wilkins's body. Hansen had gone on to tell him that Sir Daniel had appeared to be in a bad way.

Jack could tell that Daniel was really listening because his eyes finally focused on him and when he seemed more in control, Jack got up and pulled Daniel into his arms.

"I can't tell you how grateful I am that you're all right," Jack said. "I was so angry, so scared when Marguerite told me that bastard had killed your driver and then said he was going to kill the both of you."

"You," Daniel whispered hoarsely against his neck, "he wanted you dead. I couldn't let him, I couldn't..." He was only confirming what Jack already knew.

"Hush, it's all right," Jack kissed him gently just below the ear. "Let's get you out of these clothes," he continued in a quiet voice.

Jack didn't want to ask Daniel what had happened and he didn't really need to. It was obvious from the amount of blood on him and its disposition that Daniel had to have been very close to the Frenchman when he shot him. It also helped to explain why he was in such a state. 

It was one thing to kill someone at a distance but killing some one up close, even if that person was intent on killing you, was a traumatic experience and Jack knew that Daniel had never had to do such a thing before. Oh, the younger man had needed to kill before, the last time only a few days ago to be exact but always before the ball had to travel a long way and he'd never seen the result up close -- till now. He'd never been covered in his victim's blood, never had the hot blood spray in his face.

Gradually Jack got Daniel out of his clothes and by now the bowl of hot water had arrived and using the soft cloth he carefully washed Daniel's face and his torso. The younger man let him do it without a word.

When he’d finished, Jack said, "Are you feeling better now, Daniel?"

"Better because you are here," Daniel answered and as if the words were a catalyst the young man suddenly pulled Jack to him and kissed him fervently.

Abruptly Daniel needed Jack as he had never needed him before. He wanted to hold him, feel him; touch him, all over, everywhere. Never before had he felt such an elemental need.

They had only been lovers for a few days and had done little more than explore each other's bodies and their own responses to their burgeoning sexuality. They had masturbated each other, sucked one another though Jack found the idea of swallowing semen from another man strange. Daniel, however, was curious and wanted to try though he hadn't been very successful on his first attempt and they had laughed over that. 

Then, for the first time last night, Jack had lain over Daniel and they had brought each other to orgasm by rubbing their penises together and they had both been astounded at how wonderful it had felt. 

Now, however, Daniel needed more. He wasn't sure if it was because he had come so close to his own mortality, or perhaps the threat to Jack's life or, god forbid, because he had taken a life but he felt the need to reclaim his own existence.

The kiss was now almost a tussle between them as Jack pushed his tongue into Daniel's mouth and they each tried to taste each other. Jack's hands were running all over Daniel's naked torso and Daniel was trying desperately to undo the buttons on Jack's shirt, all the while not breaking the desperate kiss. 

Daniel was so frustrated that he couldn't get the buttons unfastened quick enough and he snarled into Jack's mouth as he ripped the shirt and shoved it roughly off O’Neill’s shoulders. Jack gasped at the raw passion and dug his fingers into Daniel's back trying to get even closer. He slid his hands lower and clasped onto his partner’s buttocks pulling their groins together as they ground against each other.

Suddenly Daniel broke the kiss, gasping for air and he said brokenly, "Yes ...need ...you, want ...you!"

"You have me, you know that," Jack dipping his head to kiss Daniel's nipples.

"No, more, I want you inside me. I want to know what it’s like, to feel you ...inside. I want to know I belong, you understand?"

"You’d let me do that? I've only ever heard it spoken of. I don't know... you trust me that much?" Jack's voice was low, husky.

"No one more. You remember you said that to me once, I feel exactly the same about you. I trust you and I love you and I want everything with you. I hope one day you will let me love you like this."

Jack looked at him. He had vaguely thought about male penetration but he had to admit he was a little afraid of the idea but suddenly he was overwhelmed by the need to know. He was also overwhelmed by Daniel's trust and belief in him and he realised he could offer nothing less in return.

He smiled, "You know how to do this?"

Daniel ducked his head and grinned. "I have read as much as I could find. And I ...er, well I hoped that perhaps one day ...I have made some preparations."

"Preparations?" Jack grinned.

"Well, I guess you know that at first it's not easy and I have something that will help. It’s olive oil."

Hardly able to keep his face straight, Jack asked, "Virgin?"

Daniel laughed, "Not for much longer!"

They finally moved over to the bed and Daniel opened a drawer and took out a small sealed bottle. As they finished undressing Daniel explained what Jack would need to do and with a lick of his lips Jack said he understood. As Daniel had been speaking Jack found himself growing hot and hard at the idea of touching Daniel like that.

They settled on the bed lying on their sides facing each other and they kissed and caressed slowly bringing the want bubbling up to the surface until Daniel was moaning with need and only then did Jack slide down and take his lover’s penis in his mouth and lick along his length, sucking and nipping at the tip. 

"Jack, please, please ...Jack." 

However, Jack didn't hurry, instead he poured a little of the oil onto his fingers and slipped his hand underneath and behind Daniel's balls and sought out his opening, circling and massaging around it until in a firm movement he slid one finger in and pushed. 

Daniel gasped at the strange sensations that Jack was creating and it brought his orgasm racing through him and with a cry he shot into Jack's mouth and the older man tried to swallow as much as he could. 

Jack looked up to see Daniel's eyes screwed tightly shut and beads of perspiration on his forehead and his upper lip. Slowly Daniel opened his eyes and stared at Jack as gradually a grin spread over his face.

"That was wonderful, Jack."

"And it's not over yet, roll over."

Feeling a little nervous now, Daniel did as he was asked and immediately he felt Jack's fingers running up and down his spine as the older man lay down alongside him and half over him. Daniel was excited to feel Jack's erection pressing into his hip and then promptly forgot everything as Jack pressed a finger inside him again, but this time he pushed in further.

"Oooh, that feels ...more, Jack."

With a grin, Jack pulled the finger out and even as Daniel protested at its loss Jack pushed two fingers into the opening and as Daniel gasped Jack stopped, wondering if he was hurting his lover.

"Don't stop Jack move, do something."

Jack began to move again, pushing and twisting his fingers just as Daniel had described. He hadn't expected to like this part as much as he did but he found that the surprised pleasure Daniel displayed was infectious. He pushed a little harder and was surprised to find a hard nub which he explored. He was even more surprised by the loud cry that erupted from Daniel.

"Oh, god! I didn't mean to hurt you," he said, starting to pull out.

"No! Oh god! Do that again."

"What? This?" Jack asked gently touching his lover deep inside again. 

Daniel shivered all over and moaned gently. "It said...the book said but I never expected it to be like that."

"What? What did I do?"

"You found my prostate, it feels wonderful." 

"You want me to do that again?"

"Mmm," Daniel sounded dreamy. "Another, another finger."

Jack grinned at how totally relaxed Daniel sounded hoping this meant it would be easy when it came to putting himself inside ... God, me inside Daniel, I can hardly believe it!

He pushed a third finger inside, twisting them around trying to open Daniel as much as he could and he made sure to brush Daniel's prostate one more time before pulling out.

He quickly oiled his penis and said to Daniel, "Are you ready, I'm going to pull you to your knees now, all right?"

"Yes, I wish I could see you though."

"It'll be all right. You'll feel me right inside, just like you wanted."

"Oh god!"

Jack wanted to echo Daniel's wishful prayer but decided silence might be easier for Daniel, so instead he pulled his lover towards him and carefully lining himself up he slowly pushed against the ring of muscle. At first nothing seemed to happen and he wondered what he had done wrong. He so wanted to make this right for Daniel, especially now and yet... He pushed again Daniel moaned. I'm hurting him! No, I can't do this. I won't.

Almost as if Daniel could read his mind, he said, gasping, "It's fine, it's supposed to be hard the first time, it'll be all right. Keep pushing." 

As if to reinforce his words he pushed back at Jack just as the older man pushed forward and suddenly Jack popped inside. He kept pushing slowly and steadily and he could feel Daniel panting for breath. When finally he was all the way inside, Jack stopped to get his own breath, resting on Daniel's broad back, letting Daniel get used to the feel of him. To Jack being this close to the man he loved, the sensation of owning and at the same time being owned was delicious.

Jack kissed Daniel's spine and with his free hand, the other was supporting some of his weight, he caressed Daniel's flank.

"All right, Daniel?" he asked between kisses.

"Yes, better if you moved now though."

Needing no more asking, Jack slowly pulled out and then thrust back in and when Daniel moaned with pleasure, Jack set up a steady slow pace. 

"Faster, Jack, faster."

Taking a firm grip of Daniel's hips, Jack began to increase his pace, drawing out slow and steady and then thrusting back in hard and fast and judging by Daniel's constant moans and blandishments it was just what he wanted. 

Jack pulled Daniel a little higher to get a better purchase on him and then he slammed back in and Daniel suddenly stiffened and cried out, "Jack!" and the older man knew that he had found that special spot deep inside his lover. With a roar of triumph Jack pulled out and thrust back in over and over until Daniel was incoherent and shaking. 

Jack felt it gathering low in his belly and it flowed through him like fire until he growled out Daniel's name as his climax filled his lover and Daniel gasped out Jack's name as if it were an entreaty.

A few seconds or a lifetime later, neither man was sure, Jack came back to himself to find he was lying on his side with Daniel in his arms. They were still joined together and Daniel was gripping his arms around his chest.

"Daniel?" he said, surprised to find his voice hoarse. He carefully pulled out of his lover's body and turned Daniel to face him. His eyes were huge and his cheeks flushed.

"That was ...that was the most wonderful feeling I have ever had," Daniel replied his voice thick with emotion.

"Oh yes, I never expected to feel so ...so whole," Jack said, a gentle smile graced his lips.

"Next time, you can feel me."

"But, Daniel, I did feel you. You were all around me, everywhere. It was perfect."

“You mean like that little wayside flower, the scarlet pimpernel?” grinned Daniel.

 

FIN


End file.
